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Chapter Text

May 3, 1998

Harry's eyes opened slowly, sluggishly, and struggled to stay that way. The blurry familiarity of his surroundings sent a jolt of fear ripping through him, but only for a moment before the rest of the last two days caught up with him. He fumbled for his glasses as the canopy of his old four-poster came into focus again. 

It was finally over. Seven long years of heartache, danger, and the relentless weight of being The Chosen One were behind him. The battles he'd fought—the war itself—had culminated yesterday in that final confrontation. And now, at last, it was done. No more enemies to face, no more destinies to fulfill. He had thought he might feel triumphant, even relieved. Instead, he felt...hollow.

Fred. Tonks. Remus…

But he had survived. Against all probability and likelihood. "Neither can live while the other survives." That meant it was time to live, right? 

"But how?" he whispered into the empty room, wincing at the jagged rasp in his voice and throat. Things were starting to hurt now that adrenaline and exhaustion were out of the way.

For more than two years now, the future had been some abstract idea, something he hardly let himself imagine. Something out of someone else's life, he'd called it. Every thought beyond that inevitable clash with Voldemort had felt like tempting fate. Now, with that future staring him in the face, what did living even look like? 

Survival and living were two very different things. He knew that well enough.

He sighed deeply, stretching out—and immediately regretted it. Pain flared everywhere. His body, battered and bruised, protested every movement. His muscles ached, his joints felt stiff, and a persistent twinge in his right knee sent a sharp reminder of the physical toll. Cuts and bruises mapped his skin, each one a marker of survival. But the worst of it settled in his chest and shoulders—a thick aching stiffness blooming from right over his heart. 

He thought back to the clearing. He could still see the flash of green light, feel the strange, weightless sensation as it hit. It hadn't hurt then.

He thought of Ginny, that blazing look in her eyes, and the feeling of her lips on his, though it had been months since they last touched. 

He thought of her now. Now that he had the luxury of it. Where was she? Was she still nearby? The thought brought him comfort, more than anything else his restless mind could offer. He clung to it, using her memory as a shield against the darker thoughts he knew were circling just beyond. Thoughts of Fred, and Tonks, and Remus; of Teddy Lupin, his godson who he had never met; of the Weasleys and how they'd given up so damn much to help him get to this point: alive and mostly whole and fully free for the first time; of everyone he loved sitting somewhere in this castle. 

Victorious and grieving.

Harry's stomach growled. Loudly and viciously. He twisted, not yet ready to leave the quiet safety of his old bed. His movements were sluggish and stiff, and sent pain shooting through him. 

Another sigh. Another wince of pain. But he swung his legs out onto the floor and pushed himself up. The world wobbled for a moment before he was able to steady himself, and he was briefly tempted to let it wobble him right back into bed. It seemed infinitely more inviting than the hard cold stone under his feet and the reality waiting for him outside of Gryffindor Tower.

But he was alive now. He was living . And he had living to do.

Harry found a change of clothes folded nearby. His clothes, though he wasn't sure how they were there. He wasn't going to question it. Magic , he supposed. He reached for them, but noticed the blood and dirt on his hands. With yet another resigned sigh, he limped his way to the bathroom and stripped away the clothes he'd literally fallen into bed with. 

He found the bathroom mirror and dared to look at himself. He'd scrubbed away some of the dried blood on his face, before he'd collapsed into bed. But he was a few days from healing. There was a dark bruise under one eye, and a scabbed-over abrasion across the opposite cheek. 

He barely recognized himself in the cracked mirror of the bathroom. The last time he'd stood here, he'd been lean but solid, years of Quidditch lending him a wiry strength. Now, that strength was a memory, worn away by months of near-starvation on the run. His reflection was a ghost—gaunt and hollow-cheeked, his shoulders hunched beneath a frame that was little more than skin stretched over bone. His arms, once firm with muscle, hung limply at his sides. His ribs jutted out starkly beneath the dark, livid bruise that dominated his chest.

It was monstrous—an angry sprawl of purple and red, like spilled wine soaked into parchment. It bloomed from just above his heart, a grotesque blotch that swallowed what was left of his pectoral muscle. Veins of discoloration crept outward, crawling up to his collarbone and snaking down to the curve of his lowest rib. 

One last gift from Voldemort. 

He forced himself away from the mirror and into the shower. He scrubbed himself with an old bar of soap, ignoring the question of whose it was and how that might have put him off at one time. The water bounced from cold to lukewarm but he didn't care. Every shiver just reminded him that he was alive when so many others weren't . 

He got changed, forcing stiff limbs to obey and contort to fit into clothes that, by how hard they resisted his efforts, seemed to be made of stiffer material than he remembered. They were also a poor fit for him now. They felt more like Dudley's hand-me-downs than clothes that fit him at one time. 

The Durselys came unbidden to his mind. That was one complication he had no issue putting off for the moment.

He grabbed his wand and tucked it into the back pocket of his now loose-fitting jeans. With a grimace and a tightness in his chest that had nothing to do with the ugly bruise, Harry Potter stepped out of his old dormitory and the last refuge of his childhood.

Harry stepped out of the Gryffindor common room into a castle that no longer felt like Hogwarts. The corridor was eerily quiet, the usual hum of life replaced by a heavy, suffocating stillness. He was thankful for the last few minutes of solitude; thankful for the chance to pretend just a little longer that there were not entire lives shattered just ahead. 

Dust hung in the air, swirling in the morning light that streamed through shattered windows. Pieces of stone littered the floor, and the once-bright tapestries were torn and scorched, their colors muted beneath a layer of grime.

The grand staircase groaned beneath his weight as he descended. Chunks of the bannister were missing, leaving jagged edges that snagged the hem of his robes. In the distance, faint voices carried—a low murmur of grief and exhaustion from those left to pick up the pieces. The castle itself seemed to mourn, its magic flickering unevenly like a dying flame.

When he reached the first floor, the devastation became impossible to ignore. A section of wall near the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom had crumbled entirely, leaving an open wound that revealed the grounds beyond. The scent of scorched wood and stone hung heavy, mingling with something sharper, metallic. Blood, he realized, his stomach twisting.

The closer he drew to the Great Hall, the more signs of the battle he saw. Spells had gouged deep scars into the stone floors, their edges blackened. Portraits hung crooked, their inhabitants missing or too stunned to speak. Suits of armor stood lopsided, some reduced to scattered limbs. Nothing had been spared.

When the Great Hall finally came into view, he paused. The knowledge of what lay beyond set his heart pounding in his chest and hammering painfully against the ugly bruise. Having lived it once, he thought it might have been easier walking into the Forbidden Forest than crossing the length of the Entrance Hall.

Harry swallowed hard, his feet rooted to the spot. The castle had endured, but it would never be the same

"Hi, Harry," a quiet voice nearby ripped him from his brooding, and he spun—as quickly as his aching and tired body would allow—to find himself face-to-face with Luna Lovegood. "You've been resting."

It wasn't a question, and there was something so utterly tired about her voice despite the Luna-ness of it

"You don't look very rested."

"No. Don't feel it much either," he said. He felt utterly exposed

"I imagine not," Luna said. Her wide eyes locked with his own. "It's good you came down though. Everyone is hoping to see you."

"Bit nervous," he admitted. He scratched absently at a scab along his jawline.

"That's not surprising," she nodded. "Sometimes it's easier to let yourself hurt than it is to watch others hurt. It's a bit selfish, really." Harry winced at the accusation. "Oh, that's not a bad thing. Everyone should get the chance to be selfish sometimes."

"Better get on with it, then," Harry muttered. He watched Luna walk off from the Entrance Hall and made his way in, thankful for the bustle and movement of everyone tending to the injured and leaving him unnoticed. The bodies of the dead had plainly been moved since he was last there, and the four house tables returned to roughly their usual positions.

He spotted Ron and Hermione at the far end of the Gryffindor table with the rest of the Weasleys. They were easy to find, even among the two hundred or so people that filled the hall now; students, professors, members of the Order, and citizens of Hogsmeade. The sea of red hair was near impossible to miss

Ron and Hermione sat closer together than he'd ever seen them; Ron's head rested heavily against her shoulder. His eyes were closed but Harry could see the agony etched onto his features

Mr. Weasley had a white-knuckle grip on one of Mrs. Weasley's hands, which she returned in equal measure. She had her other arm around George in a grip that seemed unbreakable. Like she was trying to continuously prove that he was alive . Charlie was on the other side of George, his hands folded in front of him on the table. Bill was across from Charlie with Fleur pulled tight against him. Percy sat by his mother's side. He had a hand on her arm and leaned against her shoulder in a very uncharacteristic display of affection.

Then there was Ginny, sandwiched between Bill and her father. His heart hammered painfully in his chest again, this time for an entirely different reason. It had been months since he'd seen her. Spoken to her. Months since he'd been able to do anything more than stare at her dot on the Marauders' Map and hope against all hope that she was safe

No one spoke. They barely even moved. The Weasleys looked as hollowed-out as he felt. He could feel the grief rolling off of them, the way they sat so close together, as if they were afraid to lose sight of anyone else for even a moment

He walked towards them, fighting back a wince with each half-limping step of his right leg. It wouldn't do to make a fuss over his injuries now. Each painfully-slow step that brought him closer to them seemed to draw the sound and breath out of the room. The silence rippled through the Great Hall in a wave and Harry was distinctly and uncomfortably aware that he was at the center of everyone's attention once more

The silence was deafening except for his uneven footfalls. Everyone else had even stopped moving to stare at him. He was a few paces away before any of the Weasleys noticed.

"Harry." It was George that spoke first, surprising everyone. His eyes were red and puffy but there was an alertness to them that Harry had no frame of reference for.

And then they were all on their feet and moving towards him. Ron reached him first and pulled him into a fierce hug that sent a wave of pain tearing through his chest.

" Bloody hell !" Harry gasped, pulling back and grasping painfully at the bruise under his shirt. He lost a bit of his footing and let himself stumble onto an empty seat at the table.

"You good, mate?" Ron asked worriedly. There were concerned glances all around, making Harry distinctly uncomfortable.

"I'm fine," he lied. There was a chorus of eye-rolls. "Just sore."

"Let me see," said Hermione. She pawed at his shirt collar, but Harry gently brushed her away

"I'm fine."

"At least go see Madam Pomfrey," Hermione insisted.

"Yeah I don't fancy going to the Hospital Wing today," Harry muttered. "I think she might bloody well kill me if I did."

"It's been almost a year since you've had a stay," said Ron, scratching at his chin. "I bet she's missed you."

"Ha," Harry deadpanned, still rubbing at his chest. But he was thankful for Ron's attempt at humor.

"You gave us a right scare, Harry," Mr. Weasley said. He put a hand on Harry's uninjured shoulder and gave it a soft squeeze. Harry gave him a tired smile, and was grateful for Mr. Weasley's effort to return it, even though the smile didn't fully reach his eyes. "I'm afraid I have to ask you not to do that again."

"It's not on my list of things to repeat," Harry muttered. He struggled back to his feet and forced himself to face them; the family that had treated him almost like one of their own for years. He'd gotten them pulled into all of this. "Mr. Weasley, I—" He glanced helplessly between them all. "I'm so—I—"

And then he found himself pulled into a Weasley hug for the second time that morning. He bit back on his pain and let it happen this time.

"None of that," Mr. Weasley whispered, drawing back after a moment and looking Harry in the eyes. He shook his head and gripped Harry's shoulder's tightly. "What you did—" he glanced at Hermione and all the Weasleys, "What you've all done. I am so proud of each and every one of you."

Harry thought he held Percy's gaze a split second longer than the others

"And no one who—" Mr. Weasley took a shuddering breath to steady himself. "No one we lost would want you or anyone else to apologize." His hand found Mrs. Weasley's again. "We all came here knowing what we were risking. Knowing what we were fighting for ."  His gaze swept over the room, filled with both grief and quiet pride.

"On that note," Hermione said, breaking the heavy silence. She leaned forward and slid a freshly folded copy of the Daily Prophet toward Harry. "You should see this."

Harry's eyes dropped to the front page. Splashed across it in enormous, triumphant lettering, were the words:

The Man Who Won: Voldemort Vanquished

By Barnabas Cuffe, Editor-in-Chief

The wizarding world awoke this morning to an extraordinary new dawn. Lord Voldemort, the self-styled Dark Lord, has been defeated. In a dramatic turn of events at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry late yesterday, Harry Potter—long celebrated as "The Boy Who Lived"—has emerged as "The Man Who Won," decisively ending Voldemort's reign of terror. In a fierce showdown witnessed by hundreds, Potter faced Voldemort in a duel that has already become the stuff of legend.

"Oh, come on," Harry groaned. He resisted the urge to throw the paper.

"Knew he wasn't going to like it," Ron said with a wry grin. "In all fairness it is weird calling you the Boy Who Lived now that you're of-age."

Harry rolled his eyes and focused back on the article.

This victory follows nearly a year of Potter's absence, during which his whereabouts and activities were a matter of speculation. Sources suggest that Potter, along with fellow Hogwarts students Hermione Jean Granger and Ronald Billius Weasley, pursued critical efforts to dismantle Voldemort's power. Unsubstantiated reports link the trio to daring incidents, including a Ministry infiltration last autumn and a high-profile break-in at Gringotts Wizarding Bank the day before the battle. Eyewitnesses claim to have seen Potter and his companions fleeing the scene on the back of a dragon—though this remains officially unverified.

Potter's reappearance at Hogwarts late on May 1st set the stage for the battle that followed. By morning, he was reported slain, carried into the castle grounds by none other than Voldemort himself, who declared victory. Yet, in a shocking twist, Potter rose again, proving Voldemort's claims premature and igniting the final act of resistance.

"We'll need to sit down with Kingsley soon and explain what happened," Hermione said, drawing Harry out of the article. "I think it's best he hear it from us."

Harry nodded before turning once more back to the Prophet .

Despite Voldemort's defeat, danger lingers. Several high-ranking Death Eaters remain at large, including Corban Yaxley, Thorfin Rowle, Rodolphus Lestrange, Antonin Dolohov, and Fenrir Greyback. Interim Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt assures the public that efforts to apprehend these fugitives are underway.

In a moving statement this morning, newly appointed Minister Shacklebolt reflected on the battle:

"Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley played pivotal roles in bringing Voldemort's reign to an end. But let history not forget the many brave witches and wizards who stood united yesterday, laying down their lives in defense of freedom and free will. This victory belongs not to one, but to all."

As the wizarding world begins the arduous process of rebuilding, one thing is clear: Voldemort's shadow has been lifted. Harry Potter, no longer merely a symbol of survival, stands as an emblem of action, choice, and courage. For the first time in decades, hope reigns.

"So what now?" Ron asked. His eyes danced between his mother and father.

"Between Muriel's and Shell Cottage I think we have enough room for everyone," Mr. Weasley said. He removed his glasses and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "At least until we can make sure the Burrow is put together enough for us, yeah?"

"We can go as soon as you want, Dad," Bill volunteered. Harry noticed him give Fleur's hand a gentle squeeze; she nodded as well.  "You and me first maybe, just to make sure."

Mr. Weasley nodded. "And then we'll go together. Home."

Harry let that word roll over him. Home . For the first time in nine months he found himself realizing that he didn't exactly have one

"That means you, too, young man," Mrs. Weasley said, as if she could read his thoughts. She cupped his cheek in one hand, tears in her eyes. Not for the first time, the idea that Molly Weasley was a skilled Legilimens crossed Harry's mind. It would explain quite a bit

"You as well, Hermione," she said, wrapping both Ron and Hermione in a tight embrace. "At least until we can get you in contact with your parents. Though maybe we'll spend some time discussing sleeping arrangements?"

There was more, of course. The kind of half-hearted banter that came when everyone was too tired to be properly witty but still felt the need to fill the silence. There were a few moments of light teasing about Ron and Hermione's new arrangement —which, to Ron's credit, he handled with uncharacteristic calm, neither snapping nor retreating into defensive bluster. Harry even found himself tempted to join in, to add his voice to the chorus of " finally " that everyone seemed to be taking turns with.

Everyone except Ginny.

Her eyes found him, and the chatter around them faded into a distant hum. There was something in her expression—something fleeting and unreadable—that caught him off guard. Harry straightened, steeling himself, and limped toward her. Each step was a monumental effort, like fighting gravity.

She was so close now, closer than she had been in nearly a year. It took everything he had not to ignore his aching muscles and run to her, but his shame fought to keep him rooted where he stood. Harry forced himself to meet her gaze. After everything—running, fighting…dying—the only thing that mattered now was that they were there. Alive

He exhaled, his voice barely above a whisper. "Gin."

Her eyes flared at the sound of her name, blazing with a familiar intensity that sent a shiver through him. That look had haunted him and carried him into oblivion. He'd memorized it before they left. Burned it into his mind. It had almost been the last thing he'd seen. He wanted to say something, but the words stuck in his throat. He'd imagined this moment, imagined all the things he could say, but nothing could have prepared him for the weight of it now that it was real; now that they'd survived when so many others hadn't.

"I thought you were dead, Harry," Ginny said, her voice unnervingly calm. He could tell she was struggling to reign herself in. To keep that legendary Ginny Weasley temper in check. "You came back and were here and then gone and I thought you were dead !" Her voice shook and Harry could see the tears in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall

Harry’s throat tightened, guilt ripping through him in waves. “Ginny, I—”

"After everything . After Professor Lupin and Tonks and…and Fred. And then I saw you and I wanted to die . I just

Ginny let out a ragged breath. "I should be so, so…" She couldn't seem to even find the words.

Harry nodded. Her words hit him like a curse, and all he could do was stand there and take it

"I know," he said quietly. Before he could think better of it, the words tumbled out. "I didn't—I don't—I'm sorry," he whispered. The words felt small, inadequate.

Ginny's eyebrow raised ever so slightly, and Harry became distinctly aware of the Weasleys around them falling into a respectful hush. He fought the urge to look to Ron and Hermione for support, realizing that it was no longer about them .

"There's a lot I need to know," Ginny said at last, her voice firm but not unkind. "A lot I deserve to know—about everything that's happened."

Harry nodded again, his throat tightening. His heart pounded painfully in his chest, beating against the bruise. He wanted to tell her everything, but the weight of it all seemed impossible to lift. The idea of letting anyone get close enough to know what they'd been through terrified him. The thought of her looking at him the way Ron and Hermione had when he'd told them about the forest…"I don't…" He swallowed hard. "I don't know where to start."

"Yeah," Ginny said tentatively, stepping closer. Harry could feel her presence, warm and steady, like a tether anchoring him to that moment. Each beat of his heart hammered painfully in his chest, proving to him that he was alive. Her eyes locked onto his, burning with quiet intensity. "No more Dumbledore missions, right?"

Harry exhaled heavily, the faintest smile curling his lips. "There bloody well better not be."

She crossed her arms, her voice fierce with determination. "Because you're not allowed to leave m—us again." There was no missing the slip of her words. There was no mistaking his last chance

Harry's chest tightened. He let out a shaky breath "I wouldn't dream of it." He reached for her, needing to feel her, but something in Ginny's eyes stopped him. His heart tightened, a flicker of panic darting through him along with a stab of fresh pain, but then he saw her eyes sparkle mischievously.

"Did you meet any Veela while you were off doing whatever it was you were doing?"

Harry's lips twitched and he fought the urge to laugh when Fleur cocked her head curiously. "No Veela," he said solemnly. "Though there was a moment when Ron caught me in my underwear—"

Ron snorted, and Hermione smacked him on the arm with a scolding, "Ron

Ginny burst out laughing, the sound like music after the year of silence between them. She punched him playfully on the shoulder, harder than he expected. He winced, clutching his bruised chest.

"Fine," he grimaced, grinning despite himself. "The next Dark Lord is all yours."

"Good," she said softly, her smile finally breaking through

It took his breath away.  Despite the ache of his body and the sharper pang of grief clawing at his chest, a reluctant, lopsided smile tugged at his lips.

Before he could find the right words to say, Ginny took matters into her own hands. With a decisive move, she grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him toward her. Harry stumbled slightly but found his footing as his arms instinctively wrapped around her waist.

Then her lips met his, and everything else—the ache, the grief, the exhaustion—melted away. The world narrowed to this single moment, to the heat and electricity coursing through him. Her hands clutched his shirt tightly, pulling him closer as though she were afraid to let go, and Harry knew he’d never felt anything so grounding, so right.

The kiss wasn’t soft or tentative. It was fire—wild and consuming, fierce and unapologetic. It carried all the unspoken words, the months of separation, the worry, the longing, that neither of them had dared to feel fully until now.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Ginny rested her forehead against his, her eyes searching his as if to memorize every detail of this moment.

"You’re not leaving again," she whispered fiercely, her voice cracking.

"Never," Harry promised, his voice just as raw. And this time, he meant it with every fiber of his being.

Chapter Text

May 6, 1998

Dad and Bill anticipated it being only a week until the Burrow was safe enough for everyone to return to. But Ginny felt that was still entirely too long. Aunt Muriel just couldn't help herself it seemed. The onslaught of critiques ranged from Ginny's posture, to her attitude, to Charlie's choice in career, to Ron's decision to stay at Bill's with Harry and Hermione instead of "the rest of his real family

Muriel also made the mistake of levying criticism towards Fred late in the evening during their second night there after drinking a bit too much Veela-made brandy. Ginny couldn't even remember exactly what the old woman had said, only that she'd said his name with the same casual and dismissive manner in which she'd always talked about them. Ginny had nearly exploded, and would have, if Dad had not abruptly sent everyone from the room to check on either her mum or the others at Shell cottage.

Ginny had grabbed her things and Disapparated immediately for Shell Cottage. She'd trained in Apparition with the twins during their sequester at Muriel's, since she'd been banned from doing so at Hogwarts her sixth year, but she was grimly surprised she'd managed to make it to Bill's that time without splinching herself.

Fleur had welcomed her with solemn understanding, showing her where she could room with Hermione. Ginny couldn't help the pang of guilt that stabbed through her when she remembered how she'd treated Fleur in her home. Mum had stopped by later, briefly making sure that she was alright before offering a half-hearted scolding

"She can stay 'ere, Molly," Fleur offered gently, still hesitant to come between mother and daughter. "It might do zem some good." She gestured to where Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat outside of the cottage, huddled around a campfire and watching the waves.

Mum had given Ginny a hard look, but relented and thanked Fleur for looking after everyone.

At Shell Cottage, Ginny couldn't help but notice how much the three of them had changed. The past nine months had taken their toll—she had known that, of course—but seeing it firsthand made it real.

Ron was more restless than before, like he was always expecting something to go wrong. His movements were sharper, his laughter less frequent, and there was a wariness in his eyes that hadn't been there before. She often found him watching for Harry and Hermione, as if keeping them in sight was the only thing holding him together

Still, Ginny could see how he leaned on Hermione, how her presence steadied him. It was clear they had become something different to one another. Something more than just the newly-realized romance she'd observed at Hogwarts after the battle.

Hermione, though quieter than Ginny remembered, still carried that unmistakable spark of determination. But now, it seemed tempered by something softer—an understanding of how fragile things could be. Her words were measured, her actions deliberate, as if every step forward had to be carefully weighed and chosen

And then there was Harry. Ginny had been worried about him during their months apart, but now that they were back together, she was starting to see just how deeply everything had affected him. He still carried that same stubborn strength, the same fire in his green eyes that she had fallen for, but there was a heaviness to him now, too. He moved with purpose, but sometimes she caught him pausing, his shoulders sagging as though the weight of the past year hadn't quite lifted.

But when Harry looked at her, that heaviness seemed to ease. There was warmth in his gaze, a quiet gratitude that told her he was trying—trying to move forward, trying to heal, and trying to hold on to the life they had been fighting for. They hadn't yet spoken about the last few months. Harry, Ron, and Hermione hadn't said much at all about what they'd been doing

"It's not a story we want to tell too many times," Ron had told her that first night at Bill's. "It's long and it goes back a ways. We'll tell you—Harry'll tell you—but I think we'd rather just tell it once. We're already going to have to tell Kingsley, too." He shook his head fiercely. "Blimey, I can't believe I'm on a first-name basis with the Minister for Magic."

She didn't find it nearly as amusing.

"Ginny," Ron continued, sensing her apprehension. He touched her arm gently. "He'll tell you—I'll hex him myself if he doesn't—we're just still trying to figure out how , yeah?"

She'd sat up late that night, sipping a cup of slowly-cooling tea. She'd placated the trio with taking the first watch, arguing that between the Fidelius and all of the wards around Shell Cottage no one would be able to find them. Still, the front page of the morning's Daily Prophet article, delivered to them via Percy from Muriel's, gave her enough reason to placate their worries:

The Dark Mark Still Lingers: 

Ministry Faces Daunting Task in Pursuit of At-Large Death Eaters

By Reginald Amorim, Security Correspondent

While the defeat of Lord Voldemort has brought an undeniable sense of relief to the wizarding world, the battle is far from over. Several high-ranking Death Eaters remain at large, and their capture is now one of the foremost tasks for the Ministry of Magic. Though Voldemort himself has been vanquished, his dark influence has not been completely eradicated, and the Ministry faces the difficult challenge of dismantling the remnants of his corrupt network.

Among those still evading capture are some of the Dark Lord's most trusted followers, including Corban Yaxley, Thorfin Rowle, Rodolphus Lestrange, Antonin Dolohov, and the notorious Fenrir Greyback. These individuals, along with other scattered members of Voldemort's inner circle, are believed to be operating in the shadows, determined to preserve the twisted ideals of their fallen leader.

Interim Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, addressed the nation today, assuring the public that efforts to locate and apprehend these remaining threats are a top priority.

"The defeat of Voldemort does not mean the end of our fight," Shacklebolt stated. "We must now turn our focus to rooting out those who remain loyal to his cause. The Ministry will not rest until every last Death Eater is brought to justice. We will not allow the darkness to regain its foothold in our society."

Auror Gawain Robards, Head of the Auror Office, echoed this sentiment, emphasizing the complexities involved in tracking down such dangerous individuals.

"The Death Eaters we are pursuing are well-versed in evasion and concealment. Some may already be in hiding outside of Britain, while others are likely embedded within our own communities, attempting to recover and regroup," Robards said. "It will take time, and it will take the collective efforts of every law enforcement officer, Auror, and volunteer who is willing to stand against them."

Robards, who played a key role in the defense of Hogwarts, also confirmed that specialized teams are being formed within the Auror Department to coordinate the search for these fugitives, with an emphasis on intelligence gathering and undercover operations. The wizarding world, it seems, is not free of danger yet, but the Ministry's resolve has never been stronger.

As the search intensifies, it is clear that while Voldemort may be gone, his legacy of fear and division will take time to undo. It is up to the Ministry, the Aurors, and the brave citizens of our world to finish the work that has only just begun.

The article had— fairly , she supposed—set the three of them on edge. Ginny thought things would be different after the battle. Thought there would be time to breathe, thought she and Harry would have quiet moments to themselves; what they'd promised each other in the Great Hall those few days before. She wondered how long it would take for her to no longer be on the outside looking in, for them—for Harry—to let her help with the weight of it

There was a telltale crack of Apparition as Dad and Bill returned after another long day of working on the Burrow. She had her wand out and ready as they strode through the door, and gave them an expectant look before letting them in any further.

"What nickname did I give you when I was five?" she asked Bill.

"Never did," Bill replied with a tired smirk, his face crinkling against his scars. "I was always too cool."

Satisfied, she lowered her wand and stepped aside to let them pass. Her father clapped Bill affectionately on the back as they moved further inside

"Tea?" she offered.

"Just a spot," Bill said, dropping heavily into a chair. She poured him a cup and handed it over.

"None for me, thanks," her dad said, waving a hand. His exhaustion was plain in the deep lines around his eyes. "I promised your mother I'd be along to Muriel's shortly. I don't want her to worry

He pulled Ginny into a tight hug and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. She held onto him for a moment, taking in the familiar scent of home, before stepping back.

"Everyone asleep then?" he asked. She nodded. "Good, good. Did we miss anything interesting today

Ginny shook her head and frowned. Her father offered a tight-lipped smile, clearly as worried about being uninformed as she was. "Maybe tomorrow then, yeah?"

With a final hug for each of them, he Apparated away, leaving the house quieter than before.

A long sigh from Bill drew her attention.

"Hard day?" she asked.

Bill nodded. "It's coming along fine. It's just… hard ." She knew it had little with the physical difficulty of the task

"I wish you'd let me come and help," she insisted. She wondered if he'd be more receptive to the idea than her dad. "I feel useless sitting around here all day."

"Dad and I don't want anyone else there until we're certain it's safe," Bill said, shaking his head. "And I think you're doing more good here than you realize."

"Yeah, it's great watching everyone sulk quietly," Ginny muttered

"You're the one who fancies the broody git, don't complain now ," Bill said with a sly smirk. He took a sip of his tea and leaned back in his chair

"I just wish he'd talk to me," she said softly, staring down into her empty cup. "Ron says they're waiting to tell everyone at once. They're still figuring out how to say it all."

"Sounds more like Hermione than Ron, but sure," Bill shrugged and Ginny snorted in agreement. "I think you just being here for them all means more than you know. They were here hiding for a while. You being here helps show them it's over."

"But is it?" Ginny asked, her voice just above a whisper.

"The running and the hiding part is," Bill said. "For all of us. This next part is going to be a different kind of hard. I think now that we're on the other side of the fighting this part feels a lot harder

She didn't know what to say to that.

"Do you remember when we went to Egypt after your first year?" Bill asked. Her gaze shot up.

"You mean after You-Know-Who possessed me with a diary?" Ginny asked caustically. "No. It slipped my mind."

"Would you let me finish?" Bill rolled his eyes. He leaned forward. "Everyone was still so worried about you. Mum and Dad were going spare trying to figure out how much to hover over you. Do you remember how that part felt?"

She did. She remembered feeling like she couldn't take a step without someone asking her if she was okay or asking how she was doing. She could barely go to the loo on her own.

"You mean how they acted like I was going to shatter into a million pieces if they left me alone for five seconds?" Ginny crossed her arms, her voice sharp, though her expression softened slightly. "Yeah, I remember."

Bill nodded, giving her the space to let her words hang in the air. "Exactly. They were trying so hard to help, to assure you that you were okay—to assure themselves that you were okay—but it wasn't what you needed, was it?"

Ginny sighed, leaning back in her chair. "No, it wasn't. It just made me feel more broken" Like she couldn't even pretend to be okay without someone reminding her she wasn't.

"Right," Bill said quietly. "And that's why I didn't ask. Not once. Not until you were ready."

Ginny looked at him, her sharpness fading into something more thoughtful. "You didn't ask," she repeated slowly, like she was just now realizing how much that had meant. "You just...sat with me."

"Right. No questions. Just company," Bill replied, his tone measured. He spared a glance to the bedrooms upstairs where she knew the others were sleeping. "I knew you didn't want to talk, so I didn't push it. We just explored. You started opening up when you were ready."

Ginny looked down at her hands, remembering back to Bill showing her the hieroglyphics on temple walls, letting her climb rocks to see views their parents would have frowned on, even teaching her some of the curse-breaking basics when she'd asked what it was exactly that he did . He'd treated her like she was normal, not fragile.

Bill nodded, his gaze steady. "And when you were finally ready, you talked for hours. About the diary, about what it felt like, about being scared, and angry at everyone for not noticing, and Harry saving you, and…everything. I didn't have to say much. I just listened."

"You didn't tell me it wasn't my fault," Ginny said quietly, nodding. "You didn't try to fix it or make it better. You just…let me say it." And somehow, that had made it better. Made it feel more manageable. He'd made her feel like she was more than what happened to her, she thought quietly.

"Fleur did that for me, too," Bill admitted softly. "After last year, with Greback." He gestured to his scarred face. "Remus had offered to talk once I was back on my feet but that was the last thing I wanted. Talking made it real. Fleur just…went about like…normal

"Please don't explain any more about what 'normal' with you and Fleur entails," Ginny said with a smirk

"Prat," he mumbled, smiling to match. He shook his head. "I wanted to prove I was strong enough to handle what had happened to me all on my own. Fleur helped me realize I didn't need to. Once I accepted that it made talking about it easier."

"You're more than what's happened to you," Ginny repeated softly.

"We're all more than what's happened to us," Bill said firmly. He leaned closer, meeting her eyes. "That's what Harry, Ron, and Hermione need now. They've been through hell, but they don't need anyone dragging it out of them. They need someone who just... sees them. At least until they're ready to talk."

Ginny swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling in. "I think I can do that."

"I know you can," Bill said with a small smile. "You've always been good at meeting people where they are. You don't need to push Harry or the others. Just be there. Let them come to you on their terms."

She nodded, her throat tightening. "I hate seeing them like this," she confessed.

"I know. I do, too. But they're stronger than you think. Just like you were," Bill said

Ginny gave a small, determined smile. "Alright, then. I'll try it your way."

Bill gave her a weary nod. "And if you still get nowhere tomorrow you can always come find me and we can…be there together."

May 7, 1998

She found Harry standing by Dobby's grave the next morning, staring down at the flowers that he'd conjured around it; wand still grasped in his hand like he was expecting trouble at any moment

"The Burrow should be ready soon," she said, slipping her hand into his empty one. He nodded, but said nothing in return. She glanced down at the gravemarker. "He was a good friend."

"We wouldn't have made it without him," Harry said. He shook his head and leaned into her, wincing as their shoulders touched. His wand hand reached up to rub at his chest.

Her brow furrowed. "You should let somebody look at that," she said softly. He didn't seem convinced. He never took care of himself. She tried a different tactic. "I know Mum would jump at the chance to worry over you."

Harry frowned and dropped his wand hand back to his side. She saw him glance back towards Shell Cottage, silently counting Ron, Hermione, Fleur, Charlie, and George. His hand tensed in hers and she gave a gentle squeeze.

"Dad and Bill are working on the Burrow," Ginny said, as if sensing his worry. "Percy and Mum are still at Muriel's. I dunno how they can stand it; the woman is a menace

Harry snorted

"But seriously," Ginny said. She turned and pulled him to face her. She took his other hand in hers as well, awkward as it was with his wand still gripped tight. "You've been wincing if someone so much as looks at your shoulder too hard."

"I'm fine," he muttered. She rolled her eyes so hard she thought everyone in the house could hear her do it

"If you say that one more time I'm going to pull your shirt off and fix it myself, you prat," she huffed. He colored at the implication.

Merlin , had they fallen so far back from where they once were

Ginny stood stiffly for a moment, certain she had buggered something up; certain that she'd said too much, prodded too hard, and pushed him away

Bill hadn't let on just how difficult it was to be there .

But she kept his hand grasped tightly in hers and leaned gently against him. To at the very least assure him that she wasn't going anywhere. They stood there for a while, clinging to one another. Ginny fought the urge that arose every few minutes to try and drag words out of Harry; she focused instead on the realness, the solidness of the man standing next to her. After months apart, after watching Hagrid carry his body out of the forest, she could wait a little longer.

Chapter Text

The first nightmare came out of nowhere. He'd had days of dreamless sleep, of sheer exhaustion. And then…he couldn't even remember it once he'd woken up. All that was left of it was the tightness in his jaw and soreness in his throat like he'd been screaming. Then he was out of bed, standing with his wand drawn in the darkness of the shared room at Shell Cottage, drenched in an icy sweat, and shaking.

"Harry, what?!" Ron gasped, fighting his way out of the covers to his wand. He glanced around wildly. "What is it?"

Hermione was on her feet a moment later.

"I—I don't…" Harry didn't trust his voice. The nightmare itself had slipped away by then, all that was left was the sense of dread. He stared at the empty spot on the floor, fighting to control his breathing. "We lost."

"Harry," Hermione whispered. Her eyes were wide and wild. Her wand shook, casting their room in a vibrating Lumos .

"You won, mate," Ron said, though his voice trembled. "He's gone. It's over."

Harry swallowed hard, a feeling like jagged rocks sliding down his throat. He nodded, forcing himself to remember, to believe. But the pit in his stomach screamed that Ron was wrong.

The second nightmare wasn't any clearer. Flashes of red and gold. And he shot awake with the feeling that he'd utterly failed. Before he even registered the feeling of being awake, he was already racing to the bedroom door. Ron grabbed him before he could throw it open and dragged him back to the bed

"Harry," he whispered sharply. "Stop. You're okay. It was a dream."

Harry didn't trust his voice to form words, so he shook his head fiercely

"You're going to wake the whole bloody house if you run out there, mate," Ron said, tightening his grip on Harry's shoulders

Harry gasped in pain and Ron let go like he'd been burned. Harry tried to control his breathing, tried to force himself to remember the battle; to remember the feeling of elation that had come when Voldemort fell. But it wouldn't come.

"You're okay," Ron said.

But Harry could tell Ron didn't believe those words.

The third nightmare never came. Harry fought sleep that last night at Shell Cottage, sitting on the camp bed with the blanket wrapped over his shoulders and his wand tight between his fingers. It had been days since Voldemort fell, days since the cries and screams of the battle gave way to the raucous chorus of victory, but his body still refused to believe it was over. His muscles remained tense, his body primed for an attack that never came. Even in the safety of Bill and Fleur’s cottage, with Voldemort lying dead in some Ministry vault, Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that peace was some elaborate trick.

Ron sat slouched in an armchair, his legs stretched out and his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His face was shadowed in the darkness, but Harry could see the faint furrow of his brow. Ron wasn’t asleep—Harry could feel the occasional flicker of his gaze. He knew Ron was worrying, likely about him, though the silence between them was thick and impenetrable. Harry didn’t have the words to bridge it, and judging by Ron’s stiff posture, neither did he. Every so often, Ron shifted as though about to speak, but each time he seemed to think better of it and sank back into his chair with a glance over to Hermione.

Hermione lay curled on the other bed nearby. She wasn’t asleep either; her shallow breaths and slight movements gave her away. Every now and then, her hand would twitch as though reaching for her wand. Her gaze occasionally darted toward Harry. He could feel her concern pressing at him, but like Ron, she didn’t say anything. Maybe she didn’t know what to say. Maybe she was as exhausted as he was, every word feeling too heavy to lift

Harry didn’t remember when his eyes closed. One moment he was staring at the flickering lamp, his mind racing, trying to ward off memories of the battle, of Voldemort’s twisted face, and of the faces they’d lost. The next, his head dropped forward, as the sheer weight of exhaustion finally dragged him under.

May 10, 1998

It was a tremendous relief when Dad and Bill announced that the Burrow was safe to return to the following Sunday

"It's a bit rough around the edges," her father had announced to the family as they prepared to leave Shell Cottage. There was a look of exhaustion in his eyes. "But when has that ever stopped us before?"

But the Burrow didn't feel quite the same. There wasn't anything really missing from the crooked chimneys, the slightly lopsided roof, or the familiar patchwork of mismatched additions that had always given the house its charm. Those were still there, painstakingly restored by Dad and Bill over the last several days, and Mum would fix anything they'd missed. But Ginny felt the disquiet of the place all the same

She paused at the edge of the garden, her fingers brushing the rough wood of the gate. The gnomes were back, of course, scurrying through the overgrown bushes and grumbling at her intrusion. The garden itself was bare; that was going to drive her mum mad until they could get that fixed

As she walked toward the house, Ginny couldn't help but notice all the little things that weren't quite right. The outer walls were smoother than they used to be, the cracks and dents that had marked years of chaos and laughter now missing. The front door, once so stubborn it always needed a firm shove to open, now swung easily on new hinges. Even the garden shed, with her father's workshop, looked sturdier than before, its roof newly thatched and its walls no longer scorched.

Inside, it was the same story. The furniture was familiar, the patched-up armchairs and well-worn sofas exactly as she remembered them—most of them, at least. Some had clearly been too damaged to remain. But the floor didn't creak in the same places, and the faint scent of burning from Fred and George's failed inventions no longer lingered outside their room

The space on the wall where the clock had once indicated the whereabouts of her family was empty

Ginny's chest tightened at the sight, and she looked away quickly, focusing instead on the feeling of Harry's hand in hers, gripping it tightly, as if he could feel the same wave tearing through him, too.

Her dad had done his best to make it the same, she could tell. Every familiar charm and quirk had been replicated as closely as possible. But no spell could truly recreate what the house had been before. The Burrow had always been more than just a house; it had been a living, breathing thing, filled with the chaos and love of the family that had made it a home

Every nicked banister, every scratch in the wood that told the history of their family; those were things that no magic could truly replicate or repair on its own.

Ginny ran her fingers along the back of a chair as she walked to the kitchen. Before, her mum would have been at the stove, humming softly to herself as she stirred a pot and fussed over feeding someone. For a moment, Ginny let herself pretend that everything was normal. That nothing had changed.

But when she turned back to the rest of her family, walking listlessly into the house, she felt it again—that absence. The quiet was different now. The laughter that used to echo through the walls was muted, and the space around her felt larger, emptier

Ginny clenched her hands in her lap, forcing herself to focus on the warmth of Harry's hand in hers; trying to meet the eyes of her parents and brothers. But it was as if they all were feeling the exact same thing.

It was still the Burrow, she reminded herself. It was still home. It was just...different.

"Well, let's get our things upstairs, yeah?" her dad urged through a tight-lipped smile. Ginny saw him watching carefully as her mum wandered listlessly into the kitchen. Charlie and Percy levitated three large trunks up the stairs and into the Burrow's tower. "Bill and I tried to salvage what we could, but a lot of what we left behind was destroyed." Her dad sighed and ran a hand through his thinning hair. "I suppose we're due for a trip into Diagon Alley sooner than later."

An uncomfortable silence fell over them. That trip would not come cheap.

"I'll go with you Mr. Weasley," Harry volunteered. He stood straighter and met her dad's eyes without flinching.

"Oh, thank you, Harry, but—"

"Please," Harry insisted. He swallowed hard. "I have everything from Sirius, and I—I'd really like to help."

Ginny watched the war of wills unfold between the two of them; between her father who would never once think of accepting money from someone else, and Harry who would give away everything he owned if someone he cared about needed him to.

Her dad's response was quiet but firm. "Harry, the war took much from all of us. But we're managing. The Burrow's stood through worse than this." She wasn't entirely sure if that was true. "And we Weasleys...we take care of our own."

Harry straightened slightly in his chair, his green eyes locked on her dad. "Then let me help," he replied, his words careful but edged with determination. "You and Mrs. Weasley have done so much for me. I owe you more than I could ever repay."

"You owe us nothing, Harry," he dad said, his voice tight. "You're as much a part of this family as any of our children. And I would never ask my children to…" He gestured softly.

Ginny's eyes flicked between them, her father's quiet pride meeting Harry's iron resolve. She could see Harry's frustration simmering just beneath the surface—not anger, but a deep-seated need to give back. He would give away everything he owned if it meant helping someone, Ginny knew this as surely as she knew her own mind. Her dad, meanwhile, clung stubbornly to the principles he'd lived by his entire life. His pride in his ability to provide for his family, even if it was not a life of luxury. His expression was a mask of gentle but unyielding resolve.

The silence stretched, heavy and palpable, as though the very air in the room was caught in the tension between them. Hermione seemed to be deep in thought, chewing her bottom lip. Ron was looking everywhere except at his best friend or father. George looked a million miles away; as if he barely registered what was going on around him. Bill was watching Harry intently with the same puzzling gaze he always seemed to save for particularly tricky curse-breaking assignments. Even her mother had stopped bustling aimlessly through the kitchen, though she did not turn from the kitchen window.

Harry broke the silence first, his voice softening but losing none of its intent. "It's not—it's...what family does for each other, right? And this isn't—I'm not asking permission, Mr. Weasley. I'm going to help." He shook his head. "But I want to do it right , and I…"

Her father's eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze boring into Harry's as though trying to test the depths of his resolve.

"You are stubborn," her dad finally said, his voice quiet and with just the barest hint of reluctant amusement.

"So I'm told," Harry replied, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Her dad exhaled sharply, more of a sigh than a laugh, and dropped to a seat at the kitchen table, removing his glasses to rub his temple. "You know, after seeing you fight You-Know-Who," he said, his tone resigned but warm, "I suppose there's no stopping you now."

Harry nodded, respectful but undeniably victorious. "Thank you."

"Harry," Hermione began tentatively. "I don't know if it's going to be that easy

"What do you mean," Harry asked quickly.

Hermione shifted, glancing around anxiously. "Well. I think Gringotts might have some issue with leaving you access to your account."

"Bloody hell, we did leave a mess, didn't we?" Ron muttered.

"What exactly did you do?" Bill asked. He pulled up another seat at the table. "You were with us for a few weeks planning… something . Then we get word you're back at Hogwarts and I start hearing some rumors. And then the Prophet says…"

Harry shared a long look with Ron and Hermione. Ginny tried not to feel left out, but at least they were beginning to open up.

"We broke into Bellatrix's vault," said Ron with a grumble as he dropped into a sofa

"You broke into Gringotts!?" her mum shouted.

"Reckon they're sure it was us?" Ron asked, grasping for hope.

"Wouldn't be hard to put together. Especially if rumors had reached Hogwarts, too," Hermione admitted. She sat down beside him and wrapped her arms tightly around herself. "And we weren't exactly subtle when we left."

"Was the dragon thing true?" Bill asked, his eyebrow raised.

Harry nodded sheepishly. Ginny's dad sputtered, mouth agape.

"Ronald!" her mother gasped.

"What dragon thing?" Charlie asked as he and Percy came down the stairs

"We broke into the Lestrange vault to steal something from Bellatrix and escaped on a dragon," Ron said.

"Ron!" Percy goggled.

" Wicked ," Charlie grinned. Even George had perked up and was paying attention now. "What species? How big was it? Where did you leave it?"

"Jumped off its back," Ron said with a shrug. "Didn't feel like sticking around until it got hungry."

Bill groaned and dropped his head into his hands. "That… complicates things a little bit, Harry," he said. "Might be best to hold off on the charitable gestures until you can talk with Kingsley when he comes by tomorrow."

Harry nodded, his eyes cast down. The complication with Gringotts and impending conversation clearly souring his gesture. "I think I'm going to take a walk for a bit. Clear my head."

"Don't go off too far," her dad said gently. "Bill and I raised the wards but…" he trailed off. "Just be cautious, yeah?" Harry nodded and set off briskly.

Ron almost got up to follow him but Hermione grabbed his hand and stopped him. They exchanged pointed looks, a conversation between them without words. Ginny was jealous again; that even after only a few days of really being together they had such a closeness. The three of them with her as their tag-a-long fourth

Finally, Ron shook his head in resignation and sat back down. Ginny gave him a tight-lipped smile. Despite her jealousy she did appreciate his loyalty.

Ron caught her gaze and nodded after Harry.

Ginny shook her head, her smile holding despite herself.

Ron rolled his eyes and gestured more forcefully. The corners of Hermione's lips twitched upward and she nodded once as well.

Ginny could have hugged her brother.

Ginny joined Harry in the orchard and she nudged his arm with her elbow. "You don't really think Gringotts is going to lock you out after you just saved all of Wizarding Britain, do you, Mr. Chosen One?" she teased. "Or do you go by 'The Man Who Won now?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Bill warned us about what we were doing," Harry admitted, ignoring her teasing. He kicked at a loose stone before dropping to sit against one of the trees. Ginny noticed again that he was favoring his left side. "I don't suppose Mr. Weasley will let me help out now even if we do get it straightened."

"I'm not so sure," Ginny said. She dropped down next to him and leaned against his right side. She resisted the urge to ask about his injuries again, deciding again to try and follow Bill's lead and meet Harry where he was willing to go. "He'll never admit it, but I think he's secretly relieved you didn't back down."

"You think so?" Harry asked

She nodded, and took his hand gently in hers. "Dad doesn't usually give up that easy."

"I haven't met a single Weasley that does," he said fondly. His fingers entwined more firmly with hers

"Well it's not like you didn't know what you were getting into then, is it?" she dared to tease.

"I think I was counting on it," he whispered.

They sat together for a while longer. Ginny let herself lean into Harry's side, pushing aside the doubts and uncertainties that still nipped at her. His thumb moved in slow, steady circles over the back of her hand. She could almost see the two of them sitting under the trees by the Black Lake, stealing moments together during her fifth year before everything had fallen apart.

Things had been so easy then. They'd fallen into step with one another without hesitation, figured out how to be together without even needing to try. There was no second-guessing, no barriers, no awkward dance of trying to reveal just enough but not too much.

It hadn't been like that with Michael or Dean. With them, there'd been a careful feeling-out process, a slow and deliberate testing of boundaries. She'd had to work out how much of herself she was willing to show, how much of her life and her thoughts she wanted to share for fear of judgment before they really knew her

With Harry it had been damn near instantaneous. There'd been no holding back. She hadn't wanted to hold back. From the start, she'd wanted to know everything about him and to let him know everything about her. And he'd let her in. She'd met the Harry who let his smile fully reach his eyes, who wore his heart so openly when he was with her

It had made even the "super-secret Dumbledore meetings" easier to stomach, because she knew he'd wanted to tell her about it. He wasn't holding it over her. He was holding it away from her and it hurt him just as much. He'd become so obvious to her so easily and in such a short time.

"So a dragon, huh?" His eyes snapped to hers so quickly she almost heard them. "Where should I say the tattoo of this one is? You know they'll ask." She raised an eyebrow and gestured at his chest. "Maybe right here so it can be fighting the Horntail."

Harry laughed, a real one

"Charlie's really jealous," Ginny said with a grin. He pulled her close and she was again brought back to her fifth year. "You seem worried about telling Kingsley."

"It shouldn't be as hard as it is," Harry said. His hand at her waist played with the hem of her shirt. "I think I'm worried that you'll all see me differently."

"Do Ron and Hermione?"

"They do now . A little," Harry said softly.

"'Now'?" Ginny said. "So it's because of what happened…that night?"

Harry nodded slowly.

"Are you sure Kingsley needs to know?" she asked.

"I think he should. He can figure out what to do with it now; who else to tell; what to tell them," Harry said with a pained expression. "Just to really understand that it's over . For good. Not like before."

Something tight in her chest loosened at those words. Part of her had wondered if this would just be more of the same. But Harry would not have said it if he was not absolutely certain.

"Do you…want to tell me ? As practice, I mean?" she offered tentatively. She placed a hand over his heart. He flinched, and his hand sprang up to catch hers. She didn't shy away, but she turned her hand to take hold of his.

"I'm really worried you'll see me differently," Harry said quietly, his voice strained and raw.

Ginny tightened her grip on his hand, grounding them both. "Harry," she said softly, her voice steady. "Look at me."

He hesitated, but when he finally raised his eyes to hers, she reached out, cupping his cheek with her free hand. His skin was warm beneath her touch, and she could feel the tension in his jaw. 

"Kiss me," she said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Harry's brow furrowed, confusion flickering in his brilliant green eyes, but he leaned in all the same. The kiss was soft, hesitant, as though he were afraid to push too far. When he started to pull away, Ginny tightened her hold on him, refusing to let him retreat.

"I'm not going to break, Harry," she whispered against his lips, her voice fierce and unyielding. She met his gaze. "And neither are you. And neither will this."

Something shifted then. The doubt and hesitation in his expression melted away, replaced by something raw and desperate. He kissed her again, hard and unrelenting, as though she were his lifeline. Ginny matched him, pouring every ounce of her strength into the kiss, determined to prove to him—and to herself—that she was alive and real .

He pulled back with a gasp, his eyes lidded, his face softer.

"It's me , Harry." His fingers tightened on hers. "I don't think there's anything you can tell me that would change how I feel."

He nodded, then closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against hers. 

"There's so much to tell you," he said.

"We've got time."

Harry sighed and pulled back. He let out a rough breath. His hands were clammy and shaking, but his eyes were clear.

"There was a prophecy…"

Harry talked with Ginny throughout the rest of the afternoon, sitting in the shade of the orchard. He held nothing back; he told her about the prophecy, about his lessons with Professor Dumbledore, about Horcruxes and Hallows, and that night in the forest. He'd left out the part about her being the last thing he'd thought about before taking the killing curse. And after everything Ginny and her family had gone through it felt like too much to put on her.

"You really went to die," she said softly. She held onto him tighter than anyone ever had in his entire life. "We really almost lost you, too. No wonder Ron and Hermione look so worried about you."

"I told you," he said. He chewed the inside of his cheek. He hadn't shown her the bruise and wound on his chest yet. He wanted to see if it healed any first before letting anyone know. 

"I'm glad you came back," she said. There was a relief in her voice that he could feel in the air between them. Her eyes had snapped to his and she fixed him with that blazing look . It gave him the courage to continue.

"It was you ," he said, suddenly, before he could convince himself not to. "When I stood there. After I'd dropped the stone and it was just me and him . I thought about you . I wanted—I thought if I could have only one last thought, I'd want it to be of you ."

There was a beat of silence, and he wondered if he'd said too much, revealed too much of himself that was still raw and unspoken. It was a lot to put on one person.

" Oh ," came Ginny's whispered reply. Her eyes were wide and shining. "Harry. I've never—no one's ever—"

"Sorry," he said quickly, mentally kicking himself. He'd pushed too far. It was too much to put on her plate right then and was going to scare her away. "That's not—I mean—I'm sorry. It's too much right now. I didn't—"

" Harry ," she said, her voice low and half-gasping. His jaw clicked shut with an audible snap. There was a teasing look in her glistening eyes. "I'll let it go this time because no one has ever told me anything so beautiful . But I will hex you if you ever apologize for that again."

Harry let out a weary, hollow laugh, but it caught in his throat, breaking into a sob he couldn't contain. Before he could convince himself otherwise, he pulled Ginny into his arms, clutching her as though she were the only thing that mattered in the entire world. His face found the curve of her neck, and the tears came hard, shaking his whole body.

It took him a moment to realize that Ginny was crying too, her shoulders trembling against his. But neither of them let go. They stayed there, locked together in the shadow of the Burrow, her fiery hair wrapped around his every awareness, filling his senses with that same warm, flowery scent he'd smelled in the Amortentia nearly two years ago.

It was late afternoon by the time they'd finished. When they'd finally stopped crying he'd asked her to tell her about Hogwarts while he was away. She hadn't hesitated; she was braver and more open than he was—but he'd never doubted that. He'd held his tongue and his temper when she told him about Hogwarts under Snape and the Carrows, but his grip tightened around her all the same.

"I'm sorry," he sobbed, and he looked at her with what he hoped she could tell was awe . The tears had come easier that time. "I should have known . I wanted to protect you, to keep you safe. And I just—"

"Stop, Harry," she insisted, wiping away tears of her own. "If the roles were reversed would you want me apologizing to you

He let out a breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding.

"I should have come for you the moment I knew something was wrong there," Harry insisted. He shook his head in frustration. "I should have come back for you."

"We both had things we needed to do," she said firmly. "I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if I'd done anything less ." She smiled faintly. "I wonder where I picked that up from."

"Your family is brilliant," he said

She nudged him with her elbow and gave him a look that let him know that was not at all what she meant

" You're brilliant," he said.

"You're never going to take credit for what you've done, are you?" Ginny asked, leaning heavily against his chest. He shrugged helplessly. "Noble git."

They remained in the orchard for a while longer, saying very little, but closer than they'd been since the end of his sixth year. A cool breeze blew across the pond as the sun began to set, and they rose silently to return to the Burrow

Without the secrets between them, and with Ginny's hand grasped firmly in his, Harry was surprised to find himself feeling lighter than he had in days. Like the bruise on his chest hurt less; like he could breathe again.

"All good, mate?" Ron asked as they walked inside. He'd been watching them walk from the orchard

Before Harry could respond, Ginny had flung her arms around Ron, pressing her face into his chest. Ron froze, looking thoroughly bewildered, his arms hanging awkwardly at his sides. Harry thought he heard Ginny murmur a soft, " Thank you ." 

For a moment, Ron simply stood there, his ears reddening in confusion. Then his expression softened and he wrapped his arms around his little sister, holding her close.

"You, too," he whispered back.

Ron's room was dark except for the faint glow of moonlight seeping through the gaps in the curtains. Harry lay on his camp bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to Ron's uneven breathing. His best friend had been shifting and muttering in his sleep more than usual, and it was clear he wasn't getting any real rest. Harry sighed quietly, his mind too restless to find peace either.

The soft creak of the door broke through the stillness, and Harry turned his head as Hermione slipped into the room. She was careful not to make too much noise, tiptoeing to Ron's bed to check on him before glancing toward Harry.

"Everything okay?" Harry whispered, sitting up.

Hermione nodded but motioned for him to join her in the hallway. Harry hesitated, he glanced at Ron's sleeping form before he got up and followed her out, wand in hand, closing the door softly behind him.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, his voice low.

"No, nothing urgent," Hermione replied. She brushed a strand of hair out of her face. She looked nervous.

"What is it?"

Hermione sighed and shifted anxiously. "It's Ginny. She hasn't been sleeping well either. She didn't say much, but…she's struggling, Harry."

Harry felt a knot tighten in his stomach. He had noticed Ginny's exhaustion earlier in the day but hadn't thought much of it, assuming it was just the emotional toll of the week. Hearing this made him feel guilty for not checking on her sooner.

"Ron is, too," he admitted. He nodded over his shoulder to the room behind him. "I think…I know they're all hurting."

Hermione glanced at the closed door, then back to Harry. "We could… stay with them tonight. Just to help them sleep. Nothing more, of course," she added quickly, her cheeks coloring slightly

"What about—" Harry wrestled with the words. "Propriety and whatnot." He wasn't sure why he was arguing against her idea. The idea of betraying the trust Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had placed in him loomed large in his mind. He hated the idea of betraying their trust

But the idea of Ginny struggling to sleep, fighting nightmares, made his heart ache. This wasn't about breaking rules for selfish reasons—it was about being there for her, giving her the comfort she clearly needed. Yet, the thought of lying beside her, even just to help her sleep, made his pulse quicken with a thrill he couldn't deny. Would they understand? Would she? Or was he just justifying something he'd been wanting all along?  

"I think it would help them, Harry," Hermione said. "And…well…" she shifted uncomfortably, "so long as we're doing this for the right reasons…"

Her voice trailed off, but Harry caught the hint of a smile tugging at her lips. She believed in what they were doing—even if it skirted the edges of what might be considered proper. Harry's heart skipped a beat. If Hermione of all people in the world was advocating bending the rules… "You really think that's a good idea?"

Hermione smiled softly. "I wouldn't suggest it if I didn't. I'll stay here—with Ron. He'll sleep better with someone nearby, too."

Harry felt the weight of her words settle on him. This wasn't just about him or Ginny. It was about being there for the people they loved in the ways they needed most. "Okay," he said finally, his voice steadier than he felt. "I'll go check on her."

Hermione gave him an encouraging nod before they quietly exchanged places. Harry made his way down toward Ginny's room, his nerves buzzing. He gave a gentle knock on the door before entering. A lamp was lit low. Ginny was sitting at the top of her bed, legs drawn to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. Harry thought back to the last time they were alone in her room the past summer and that kiss. Somehow this felt so much… more than that.

He sat down in her desk chair and turned to face her swallowing hard. In the lamplight he could see the tear tracks on her face. Her eyes were heavy with exhaustion. He understood it, as far as he was able to; the feeling of the days of funerals catching up to them at night and so much still ahead of them

"Hey, Gin," he offered softly.

"I didn't think she'd actually do it," Ginny muttered. Her eyes were still fixed ahead of her, looking past him into the dark. "Is she really staying up there?"

"I knew it was your idea," Harry said, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "No way would Hermione think of sneaking out past your mum and dad without some serious Weasley influence

Ginny huffed a humorless laugh, her shoulders shrugging. "I guess it was. Neither of us could sleep. We were talking about this past year…She said that even though everything could go wrong at any second, there was something comforting about being close to you and Ron. Knowing you were safe."

Harry nodded slowly. He'd worried constantly about Ginny, but the truth was, having Ron and Hermione with him had been his anchor through it all. Hermione's parents were far away, hidden and safe—or so they hoped—but Ron's family had been in the thick of it. Only now, Harry was beginning to understand how hard that must have been for Ron. He'd taken the Weasleys' safety for granted because he'd wanted to believe they'd be okay.

"So I might have suggested she go up to Ron's room," Ginny said, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. "I just didn't think she'd kick you out ."

"She actually said I should come down here ," Harry said with a soft laugh

"Oh." Ginny's voice dropped to a whisper, and Harry thought he could see the faintest flush creeping across her cheeks in the dim lamplight

A spike of fear coursed through him where he worried Ginny thought he was expecting something of her—physical or emotional, he wasn't sure. But he reached over and took her hand in his to let her know that what he wanted— all he wanted—was to be there for her. To show her that he could be there for her the same way she'd been there for him. That it wasn't a one-way street.

He took a steadying breath. "Today was hard ," he said.

Her fingers tightened around his. "They're all hard," she muttered. "I thought the hardest part would be…losing everyone. It was supposed to get easier now. Why isn't it getting easier, Harry?"

Harry slid onto the edge of her bed, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. Her head rested against his chest, and he pressed his cheek lightly to her hair. He'd asked himself the same question every single day since the battle had ended. He mulled over the words in his head, chewing over whether to say them aloud or not. Whether they would help at all.

"I think… living is harder than surviving," he said, finally working up the nerve. "When I woke up that morning, after everything, all I could think was, ' It's over .' Voldemort, the prophecy, the Horcruxes—it felt like it would never end. And then suddenly, just like that—" He snapped his fingers, "—it was. But I didn't feel better. I felt…broken. Like everything would always be broken.

He paused, the memory sharp and painful. "And then I saw you ," he said, his voice softening. "Ron, Hermione, your family—I was glad to see them too. But you…I heard your voice, I held you in my arms, and for the first time, I didn't feel completely lost. And when your parents said we were going home, and I realized I was included…" He trailed off, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I'd never…" He swallowed hard and trailed off as the courage left him

"I—I knew how much you were all hurting. I saw how much you were hurting and as awful as it sounds it felt like I finally wasn't alone. We were all there hurting together and it felt a little easier. And, Ginny," he took her chin in his hand and turned her to face him. "Every minute of every day since then, being with you has made everything … worth it . So whatever you need, Gin. I'm here ."

Her lip quivered, but she managed a small, teary smile before burying her face against him again. Harry held her close, their breathing eventually falling into a slow, shared rhythm. The weight of the day lingered, heavy but less suffocating in the quiet of the room. As exhaustion took hold, Ginny curled into him. Her hand clutched his shirt, and Harry rested his cheek against her hair. Slowly, they drifted into sleep.

Chapter Text

May 11, 1998

Kingsley Shacklebolt, the interim Minister for Magic, arrived at the Burrow early the next morning with the soft pop of Apparition. He looked spent. The normally immaculate robes of deep plum he always favored were creased and dusty, his sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms smeared with ink and soot. His face, usually so calm and composed, bore the unmistakable signs of exhaustion—his eyes were bloodshot, and the faint stubble on his chin suggested he hadn't spared a moment for himself in days.

Again, Harry was confronted with the cost of victory. 

Despite this, Kingsley's presence still carried its usual air of quiet authority, his wand tucked neatly into the waistband of his robes within easy reach. He stepped through the wards that Bill and Mr. Weasley had raised, and nodded to Mr. Weasley standing in the doorway. 

"Kingsley, you'll forgive me," Mr. Weasley began, his tone apologetic but firm. "During the first Order meeting after Voldemort returned, we discussed a certain individual's inclusion."

Kingsley, without hesitation, nodded, his deep voice calm but understanding.

"We were in disagreement with Albus regarding Mundungus," he said, a faint smile finding him. "I said we needed to focus on trust. 'Quality over quantity.'"

Mr. Weasley chuckled and the tension in his shoulders eased. "That sounds about right. I seem to recall Molly giving me quite the look at his inclusion."

"She called it daft," Kingsley said with a small smile.

Mr. Weasley stepped aside, clapping Kingsley on the arm. "Come in, come in, Minister ," Mr. Weasley said. "And thank you for understanding."

"Caution kept us alive, Arthur," Kingsley said gently as he stepped inside.

As he stepped into the house, his broad shoulders slumped ever so slightly, betraying the weight of the rebuilding efforts he had been orchestrating since Voldemort's defeat. His gaze swept the room, first passing slowly over Harry, before landing firmly on Mrs. Weasley.

"Arthur. Molly," he said, his tone softer now. He extended his hands to them, and the lines around his eyes deepened. "I am so sorry for your loss. Fred was a hero, and—I'm sorry. I feel like I've said these same words a hundred times since…" He sighed deeply and shook his head in frustration. "He was a good man . What a family you have raised."

Mrs. Weasley pressed a handkerchief to her face, nodding as Mr. Weasley gripped Kingsley's hand tightly. His lips were drawn taut and the lines on his face were tight. Kingsley held their gazes, grounding them with his presence and a slow nod of unspoken thanks.

"George?" Kingsley asked cautiously. 

Mr. Weasley shut his eyes for a moment and shook his head, before glancing up the stairs. Kingsley nodded his understanding and seemed to blink back a tear before he turned to the rest of the room.

Harry stood with Ron, Hermione, and the remaining Weasley siblings; clustered together, guarded but curious. Kingsley nodded his head to each of them in turn, his voice steady as he said, "I know the past week has been overwhelming for all of you. The Ministry—our world —is still reeling, but we owe so much to what the three of you,"—his eyes settled on Harry, Hermione, and Ron—"managed to accomplish."

Harry shifted uncomfortably under the weight of Kingsley's words. It was hard to reconcile the Ministry-that-was with the Kingsley -Ministry; to recognize it as an ally after so long in opposition. 

But Ron squared his shoulders proudly, and Hermione, ever the respectful student, gave a small nod and small, "Thank you, Minister." The tension in the room eased just a fraction as Kingsley moved toward the table, his weariness momentarily overtaken by purpose.

"Let's sit," he suggested, his voice still gentle but firm. "I have many questions."

They gathered around the kitchen table, and Mrs. Weasley began setting out tea. There was a moment, where she stared at the two additional cups of tea she'd poured and began to sob. Mr. Weasley was beside her in an instant, pulling her into his embrace, and she buried her face in his shoulder. He murmured soothingly, but the lines of his own grief were carved so deeply into his face as he held her that he seemed ancient beyond words. The rest of the family sat frozen, each of them feeling the same ache in their chests but unable to find the words to ease it. 

With what must have been a monstrous effort, Mr. Weasley nodded once to Kingsley, and held his wife.

Harry turned back to Kingsley, trying his best to give Mr. and Mrs. Weasley the privacy of the moment. He couldn't imagine what they were feeling. 

What caught him off guard—though, in hindsight, he supposed it shouldn't have—was the sorrow etched into Kingsley's usually composed face. Harry thought back to the work Kingsley had done alongside Fred and George during the war; it was clear now just how close they must have become.

Kingsley cleared his throat, the low rumble breaking through the somber quiet of the Burrow's kitchen. His teacup sat untouched before him, his fingers loosely clasped around it. After a long moment, he looked up at Harry.

"Harry," he began, his voice steady but low. "I know this isn't easy—Merlin knows you've been through more than anyone ever should—but there are gaps we need to fill in. For the sake of the future, for the sake of understanding everything Voldemort left behind."

Harry stiffened, and Kingsley seemed to notice because he immediately softened his tone. "I'd never press you for more than you're ready to share. But…during the battle at Hogwarts, your duel with him—it's clear that you knew things, things no one else did. And before that, when you, Ron, and Hermione disappeared for months… Well, it doesn't take a genius to figure out you were on some mission Dumbledore set for you."

Harry glanced at Ron and Hermione, who were seated on either side of him. Hermione had gone pale, her lips pressed together, while Ron avoided looking at either of them, focusing instead on his empty cup.

Kingsley leaned forward and took a breath. "Whatever you can tell me—whatever you feel ready to share—it could help us make sure Voldemort's influence is truly gone. It might help others understand just what you've done for all of us." He glanced around the room. "What so many sacrificed so much for."

Harry's stomach churned. He knew it was coming.

"I think it's important," Hermione began, her voice clear but careful, "that we all agree on something before we go any further. What we're about to discuss—the lengths Voldemort went to in order to try and achieve immortality—none of the specifics can leave this room."

A ripple of surprise passed through the group.

"Why not?" Percy asked, frowning. "Surely people deserve to know what he did, how he got as twisted as he was."

"They do," Hermione said firmly, meeting his eyes. "But only to a point. The specific details—the exact spells, the process, the theory behind it—those things are too dangerous to share widely. Voldemort wasn't the first to try it, and if we're not careful, he won't be the last."

Kingsley leaned forward, his expression grim. "You're saying there's a risk of someone else attempting what he did?"

"Abso-bloody-lutely," Ron said. 

"Imagine what could happen if that information were to fall into the wrong hands," Hermione said, her voice sharp. "Someone ambitious—or desperate—might think they can do better than Voldemort, perfect the process, avoid his mistakes. We can't let that happen, not if we're hoping to do better than before."

"But people might argue that knowing the full extent of what he did could be a deterrent," Bill interjected, his brows knit together, "If they understand how monstrous it was—"

"It won't work that way," Hermione interrupted, her voice now urgent. "Knowledge like this has a way of tempting the wrong people. History is full of examples—Dark wizards who read something forbidden, experimented with magic they didn't fully understand, and became something far worse than they ever intended. Voldemort's methods were horrific, but they were also calculated and deliberate. I don't think we can risk giving anyone that roadmap."

There was a silence, heavy with the weight of her words. Mrs. Weasley's hands trembled slightly as she reached for her tea. Ginny's face was pale; of the Weasleys, she was the only one who knew the truth. 

Harry cleared his throat. "Hermione's right. It's not just about stopping another Voldemort—it's about stopping anyone from even starting down that path. The best way to do that is to make sure no one knows enough to try."

Kingsley nodded thoughtfully. "I can see the wisdom in that. But we'll need to balance it carefully—some truth will need to be shared, even if it's incomplete. People will want answers."

"Of course," Hermione said, her voice softening. "But we can control the narrative. We tell them enough to understand what Voldemort did—that he found a way to return—but not how he did it. Not the details or the specifics. We focus on the fight to stop him. On the people who fought him."

"I'll support this," Kingsley said at last, his voice resolute. "But you three need to be consistent in what you say. No contradictions, no slipping up."

Hermione nodded, relief flickering in her eyes. "We can do that. Thank you."

As the group began to murmur among themselves, Harry caught Hermione's eye and gave her a small, thankful smile. 

The Burrow's kitchen fell into a heavy silence as Harry took a steadying breath. Kingsley sat at the head of the table, his sharp eyes fixed on Harry with a mix of curiosity and quiet concern. Ginny, sitting beside Harry, gave him a reassuring squeeze on the arm.

Harry cleared his throat. "I guess the best place to start is explaining what happened the night Voldemort came after me as a baby," he said. Even as he spoke he wondered whether that was the right place to start. "My mum sacrificed herself for me—she chose not to step aside when he told her to. It created a protection around me so that when Voldemort cursed me it rebounded and destroyed him."

"Why you ?" Kingsley asked. "Why would he concern himself with a child?"

"There was a prophecy," Harry answered. Harry quickly reiterated the specifics. "The short of it is that Voldemort ended up believing it referred to me . And doing so set it in motion."

Kingsley and the Weasleys frowned. Harry shifted uncomfortably—he'd hated the "Chosen One" label. He hated it even more because it was technically true .

"He survived though," said Charlie.

Harry nodded. "Voldemort was always obsessed with living forever—immortality," he said. "He was at Hogwarts when he first came across the idea. Learned about Horcruxes."

There was a faint hiss of breath from Kingsley, and Bill's frown deepened. 

"A Horcrux is really dark magic. It involves splitting off a piece of your soul and anchoring that part of it to an object," Hermione said grimly. "The idea is that if your body dies, the piece of soul in the Horcrux keeps you alive—sort of."

" Horcrux ," Bill mulled the word over with a frown. "I've never heard the term before. But I came across something similar called the… Ka-merut in Egypt when I was working there. Lot of ancient Egyptian wizards made references to it in tombs. They called it the ' Divided Spirit .'"

"How does someone even split their soul?" Mr. Weasley asked, his voice quiet but edged with revulsion.

"You commit murder," Harry answered, his voice steady. "Taking a life rips the soul apart, and then there's some really dark magic to bind that torn piece to an object. It's a violation of magic itself."

Mrs. Weasley gave a horrified gasp, and Charlie muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse. Ginny's grip on Harry's arm tightened.

"That's how Voldemort survived that night in Godric's Hollow," Harry continued, his tone flat and matter-of-fact. "When the curse rebounded, his body was destroyed, but his soul was still tethered to this world."

"Because he'd made a Horcrux ," Percy frowned, testing the word.

"Horcrux es ," Harry corrected. "More than one." 

"How many?" Bill asked, his voice sharp. 

"Seven," Hermione said. "Six objects, and part of his soul still in his body."

"Seven pieces of his soul," Percy muttered. Harry could see his gears turning. "That is a magically powerful number." 

Harry nodded. "Professor Dumbledore thought so, too." He was shuffling restlessly; because they were nearing the point that only three other living people knew.

Kingsley leaned back in his chair, his brows furrowed in disbelief. "Seven," he repeated, his deep voice laced with disgust. "He tore his soul into seven pieces?"

"Greedy git, wasn't he?" Ron muttered, earning an incredulous chuckle from Charlie.

"Seven pieces of his soul," Harry said, ignoring the interruption, "spread across different objects he thought would make him immortal. That's what Professor Dumbledore had me doing—had us doing," he corrected, glancing at Ron and Hermione. "Tracking them down. Destroying them."

"What kind of objects?" Bill asked, leaning forward, his Curse Breaker curiosity clearly piqued. "They could have been anything, right?"

"That's what Professor Dumbledore and I were investigating before he died," Harry said. "Professor Dumbledore had these memories, from a lot of people. And we narrowed it down to objects that were significant to the Hogwarts founders and Voldemort himself."

Harry hesitated, glancing at Ron, who gave him a small nod. "The most recent he'd created was in Nagini, his snake, then there was Slytherin's locket, Hufflepuff's cup, Ravenclaw's diadem. He had a ring from the Gaunt family, and…" He paused, his jaw tightening. "And his school diary…"

The air seemed to be sucked out of the room. Mrs. Weasley dropped a mug, and it shattered against the floor. "The diary ," she whispered.

"And you've spent the last nine months searching for these Horcruxes," Kingsley surmised. 

"Well we didn't have much to go on, yeah?" Ron said.

"The diary and the ring were already destroyed," said Hermione. "We tracked down the locket to the Ministry and Umbridge." Kingsley scoffed disdainfully. "And we got the cup when we figured out that there would be one in Bellatrix's vault in Gringotts."

"Ah, I was wondering when we'd get to that," Kingsley admitted. "Quite the scandal. The goblins are demanding your heads, but have said they will settle for nothing less than the seizure of the contents of your accounts."

Harry felt himself deflate. 

"I don't want you to worry," Kingsley insisted. He reached a hand towards Harry on the table placatingly. "I believe it will be easy enough to placate the goblin's pride and leave your heads rather attached."

Harry nodded.

"We found out the diadem was at Hogwarts right after we got out of Gringotts," Ron said. "You were all there for the rest."

"How did you destroy them?" Charlie asked.

"Harry destroyed the diary with the basilisk fang, and so Hermione figured out that the Sword of Gryffindor could destroy them. That's why Professor Dumbledore left it to Harry."

"So on that night, you went into the Forbidden Forest to kill the snake," Kingsley guessed. 

Harry snapped his jaw shut and shook his head. "That—that I learned I needed to do only that night," he admitted. "Snape—Voldemort wounded him and left him to die. He—he showed me his memories; conversations he'd had with Professor Dumbledore. He'd told Snape that when Voldemort tried to kill me as a baby and his curse backfired, part of his soul latched onto mine. That's why I could hear his thoughts, speak Parseltongue, feel what he was feeling."

 "That would—" 

"I was a Horcrux, too," Harry said, he couldn't bring himself to meet their gazes. He tried to steady his breathing. He was vividly aware of the pounding of his heart in his bruised and aching chest. "The one he never meant to make."

"You?" Mr. Weasley repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I didn't know until—" He stopped, swallowing hard. "Until the very end." He could feel the eyes on him and the horrible silence in the room. "I had to die to destroy it. And Voldemort had to be the one to do it."

Mrs. Weasley let out a strangled gasp and dropped into an empty chair beside him. He jumped when she reached for him.

"Then—how?" Mr. Weasley asked breathlessly.

"He'd used my blood to come back," Harry explained. "It bonded us further, the protection from my mother—it let me… choose . Whether to come back or not."

"' Back '?" Bill asked. "So you really were dead?"

Harry nodded. "I…I met with Dumbledore when I was… gone ," he said. "He told me he thought I might be able to survive if I chose to sacrifice myself. But I couldn't know about that beforehand."

"And then you just… pretended to be dead?" Percy asked disbelievingly.

"I was still surrounded by Death Eaters and the snake was still alive."

"And the Elder Wand?" Kingsley asked suddenly, his sharp gaze locking onto Harry. "You were overheard speaking about it with Voldemort as you dueled."

Harry's expression turned guarded. "Voldemort thought it was real," he said carefully. "Thought Professor Dumbledore had it. That if he had Dumbledore's wand it would make him unbeatable. But it didn't work the way he expected. The wand was more loyal to me than to him. So when we fought that last time…"

"The curse rebounded, just like it did the first time." Kingsley studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "You've had a long fight," he said finally, his deep voice tinged with respect. "And it's clear the wizarding world owes you all a great debt."

Harry shifted uncomfortably, but Ron clapped him on the back with a grin. "Yeah, yeah, we'll take a statue. Long as they make sure I'm taller than this git."

"I just did what anyone else would have done," Harry insisted. 

A soft smile tugged at the corners of Kingsley's mouth. "The fact you believe that speaks volumes about the men and women you've chosen to stand beside you, Harry." His gaze moved slowly across the room, taking in the faces of those who had fought alongside them. "And, on that particular point, I find myself in full agreement."

The tension in the room eased slightly, and Harry allowed himself a small, weary chuckle. He glanced at Ginny, who was watching him with an expression he'd never really seen before; it was so much like that blazing look of hers, but a thousand times more intense.

"Thank you for trusting me with this," Kingsley said, inclining his head to the three of Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Nodding again to Hermione, he said, "and I am inclined to agree with you. Certain portions of this should be forgotten. Some magic should be lost to time."

Kingsley stared down into his tea for a few long moments. "You've given me much to think about. I feel it is only right for me to do the same," he said. "There is much work to do, and I feel strongly that you might play a part in it." He stood and straightened his robes. "I've spoken to Gawain Robards, the Head of the Auror Office. The ranks were severely depleted during the war; I've decided to relax the requirements for entry into the Auror Academy for anyone that fought in the Battle of Hogwarts."

"I—"

"Think about it. Talk it over," Kingsley said. "I do not need an answer immediately. Training is slated to begin in August. In the meantime I will see what I can do to ease your troubles with Gringotts. It's the least I can do, all things considered."

Harry stood. "Minister, I—" 

" Kingsley , please. We are well past formalities," Kingsley said. He offered Harry his hand. "I don't know how—what you've done…what you've all done. "

Harry took his hand. Kingsley moved to Hermione and Ron, then to the rest of the Weasley children before embracing Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. 

"We'll be in touch."

Once Kingsley had gone, a heavy silence descended over the kitchen. Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair, acutely aware of the weight of the Weasleys' gazes as they each continued to process what he'd told them.

"Harry," Mr. Weasley whispered. "How…how did you—I can't imagine…"

"And you went…all alone," Mrs. Weasley choked out.

"I—not exactly. I didn't—I think there are parts that even Kingsley doesn't need to know," Harry admitted. He picked nervously at a stray thread on his sleeve. "I wasn't alone. Not—not really."

" Harry ," Hermione said, her voice cautious.

He shook his head. "It's okay, Hermione. If we can't tell the Weasleys…" He took a steadying breath. "The Elder Wand…it was real . The Hallows are real. All of them. And Professor Dumbledore…he left me the Resurrection Stone hidden in the Snitch. So that when I—when I had to go…I wasn't really alone."

"Who did…?" Mr. Weasley asked.

"My parents, Remus, and Sirius," Harry said. He felt a strange lack of heartbreak when he thought of them. He'd lost them and they'd still come to him; still taken care to watch over him when he needed them most; as if they'd known.

As if they'd been with him all that time.

He was comforted by the idea that they might still be with him, unseen, but still watching over.

"Did it hurt?" a voice asked. Harry turned as George made himself known from where he sat hunched on the stairs. 

Harry shook his head; he remembered how he'd asked the very same question. "Quicker and easier than falling asleep," he repeated Sirius's words.

George seemed to let out a breath he'd been holding for days. It was ragged with grief. His head dropped between his knees as silent sobs shook him. Mrs. Weasley sat down beside him and pulled him against her.

"Were they—were they…upset?" Percy asked, his voice barely a whisper. There was a paleness to him, a tightness. "Angry? Or…"

"No," Harry said. "Even Remus—he said he was sad, but…They all understood."

"And the Stone?" Charlie asked.

"No," Harry said again, this time more forcefully. "I let it drop in the forest. I don't think—it's not right to call them back for long."

"Harry had Professor McGonagall put the Elder Wand back with Professor Dumbledore, too," Ron said. "It's probably better that everyone thinks they're children's stories."

"And the cloak?" Mr. Weasley asked, his fingers tented in front of him. He looked eerily like Professor Dumbledore in that moment, right down to the weary lines on his face.

"Been mine for a while," Harry said, his mind wandering to where he'd stashed his invisibility cloak in Ron's room. "It's been in my family for ages. I think…all the way back to the Three Brothers."

"Hard to believe that such things exist," Mrs. Weasley said with a sniffle. She shook her head in disbelief. "Horcruxes and Deathly Hallows. And before that—Sorcerer's Stones and Chambers of Secrets…it's all too much. You're children , just—" 

"I don't think they've been children for quite some time, Molly," Mr. Weasley said proudly, yet with a twinge of sadness. A reluctant look came over him and he glanced at Mrs. Weasley. "Now…that said…"

"Yes. Right. Boys, would you give us a moment with these four," Mrs. Weasley gestured to Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. Harry's stomach sank. "Would you mind checking the gardens and maybe…"

"Quidditch pitch," Charlie volunteered, standing quickly. He gave Ron a hearty slap on the back. "Good luck, mate."

"Wait. No," Ginny stuttered.

"I think Fleur could use help at Shell Cottage when we're…done with," Bill scrambled for an excuse. "The…shed?"

"Wonderful," Mr. Weasley said with a tight smile. "It shouldn't be more than a few minutes, and please invite Fleur back over for dinner, yeah?" Bill nodded quickly and ushered George out the door.

"Wait, I wanted to stay and watch," George called out before the door shut behind him.

"Well," Mrs. Weasley said, her voice warm but unmistakably firm, "why don't we all get comfortable? I think it's time we had a little talk."

Harry's stomach sank further. A talk . That couldn't be good. He instinctively glanced at Ginny, who sat with her arms crossed. She raised an eyebrow at him, her expression somewhere between bemusement and annoyance. He wasn't sure whether to feel reassured or more nervous.

Ron groaned, flopping into an armchair as though bracing for impact. Hermione, sitting primly on the sofa, looked perfectly composed—but Harry knew her too well to miss the way her fingers twisted together in her lap. She was nervous too.

Mr. Weasley cleared his throat, taking his seat by the fireplace. His tone was calm, almost conversational, but it did little to settle Harry's nerves. "It's nothing to worry about," Mr. Weasley said. "We just…well, we've been meaning to have this discussion for a while now. Things are different, aren't they?"

Harry's eyes flicked to Ginny again. She looked wary but not alarmed, which gave him some comfort. Ron, on the other hand, looked positively mutinous.

"Different how?" Ron muttered, already halfway to a sulk.

Mrs. Weasley shot him a pointed look. "Oh, you know very well what I mean, Ronald . You're not children anymore. You've all been through so much— too much —and come out the other side grown-up in ways your father and I could never have imagined…in ways we'd hoped to avoid ."

Harry's gut twisted again. This wasn't just about him and Ginny, then. It was all of them. Somehow, that wasn't as comforting as it should have been.

Ginny uncrossed her arms, her voice light but edged with caution. "We're not exactly on the Hogwarts Express anymore, Mum."

"Exactly," Mrs. Weasley said with a nod. "Which is why it's important we talk about…well, what it means to be living under the same roof now. Things have changed between all of you."

Harry felt the heat rise in his cheeks. He thought about the searing kiss between him and Ginny in the middle of the Great Hall when they reunited. He could only wonder how that had looked to her mother. He wanted to say something, to reassure her, but no words came. His throat felt tight. Mrs. Weasley's gaze softened as she looked at him.

"Harry," she said, her voice warm, "you and Hermione are family to us. You always will be."

Harry blinked, startled. Of all the things he'd expected, that wasn't it. "Mrs. Weasley, I…I hope you know I'd never—"

"Stop right there," Mrs. Weasley interrupted, her tone firm but kind. "You're family . That's not in question. You'll always have a place here, no matter what ."

Harry swallowed hard, his chest tightening in a way that wasn't entirely uncomfortable. Hermione, beside him, gave a small, grateful smile. "Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," she said softly.

"But," Mr. Weasley added gently, "living together does mean there are certain…expectations. For propriety's sake, and to keep things comfortable for everyone."

Ron groaned audibly, covering his face with his hands. "Oh, Merlin, here we go."

Harry tried not to laugh, even as his face burned hotter. Trust Ron to break the tension. Hermione swatted him on the arm, muttering something Harry didn't quite catch. Ginny shot him an amused look.

Mrs. Weasley sighed, though there was a faint twitch of a smile at the corner of her mouth. "Ronald, we're not here to lecture anyone. We just want to make sure we're all on the same page. You and Hermione, Harry and Ginny—it's not just friendships anymore, is it?"

Ginny exhaled slowly, moving to sit beside Harry. He felt her leg brush against his, and the touch was both comforting and distracting. "No, it's not," she admitted. "But we're not doing anything improper, Mum."

"Of course not," Mrs. Weasley said quickly. "And I trust you. I trust all of you. But it's still a big adjustment for your father and me. You're adults now, and we're learning to navigate this new…dynamic, just like you are."

Mr. Weasley leaned forward, his expression thoughtful. "What your mother means is, we're proud of you—of how far you've all come, and the way you've supported each other through everything. But we do want to make sure you're comfortable here and that we're not overstepping or making things awkward."

"Right," Ron muttered, clearly trying to steer the conversation. "So…what exactly are we talking about here? No sneaking into each other's rooms after dark?"

" Ronald !" Hermoine snapped, swatting him again, but her lips twitched with amusement.

"Well, we all know how strictly you lot adhere to rules ," Mr. Weasley chuckled, a low, warm sound. "Let's just say we'd appreciate a little discretion." He paused and took a moment to look purposefully at Harry and Hermione. "But more importantly, we want you to know that this house is always your home, no matter what."

Harry felt something crack open in his chest, a flood of gratitude and relief he didn't know he'd been holding back. He nodded quickly, his voice almost failing him. "Thank you," he managed, looking at both Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. 

Ginny reached for his hand, squeezing it tightly, and he felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the fire crackling in the hearth. Hermione smiled softly, and even Ron, red-eared and awkward, managed a lopsided grin.

"Thanks, Dad. Mum," Ron said, his voice unusually earnest. "It means a lot to all of us."

Mrs. Weasley wiped at her eyes, her smile broad and unguarded. "Oh, you lot. You've been through so much already. The least we can do is make sure you know you're loved."

"And that we're not sneaking into each other's rooms after dark," Ginny teased, her tone light, though her hand remained firmly in Harry's.

"Let's not make a habit of it," Mr. Weasley said. "I know you and Harry were together at Hogwarts at the end of last year." Harry flushed. "Ron, you and Hermione were alone most of this last year as well."

"We didn't—"

"The point being," Mrs. Weasley cut in. "Your father and I have been where you are, unfortunately in more ways than one. Just…be smart and be safe ."

"Mum!" Ginny's face was bright red.

"I was seventeen once myself, Ginerva," Mrs. Weasley said.

"I'm sixteen," Ginny shot back.

"Hardly the words of comfort you intend them to be," Mr. Weasley pointed out.

Harry snorted, earning a quick smack on the shoulder from Ginny. He winced as her hand landed squarely on a fresh bruise.

"Sorry," she said, though her smirk betrayed her lack of remorse.

"That brings me to another point," Mr. Weasley interjected, his tone gentle but firm. "I know you're not particularly keen on the idea, Harry, but we'd really like you to see a healer."

"I'm fine," Harry said quickly, hoping to put the matter to rest.

"That… remains to be seen," Mr. Weasley replied, raising an eyebrow. "You've been through things no one else has—not many people can say they've been struck by the Killing Curse twice and survived. And then there's the small matter of having a piece of a dark wizard's soul removed from you."

Harry looked down, his face burning with discomfort.

"It does warrant some caution," Mrs. Weasley added, her voice softer but no less concerned. "Of course, we can't make you do anything, but…"

"I'll think about it," Harry muttered. "But I'm fine. Really."

He tried to sound convincing, but he could feel Ron's eyes on him, the unspoken skepticism practically radiating across the room. Harry glanced up just in time to catch Ron's exaggerated eye roll, his best friend making no effort to hide it.

Harry sighed, resolving not to look at Ginny, knowing full well she'd have her own version of that look waiting for him.

"Good," Mr. Weasley said with a decisive nod. He slapped his hands on his knees and rose to his feet with purpose. "Now then, let's get you all on your way for the day. It's a lovely one out, and we've got some hard days ahead of us."

Harry snuck down again that night, featherlight charms masking his footfalls and silencing charms hiding the creak of the steps. The Burrow was quiet, save for the occasional hoot of an owl or the soft rustle of the wind outside. The house's warmth seemed to breathe around him in the quiet, the glow of moonlight slipping through the crooked windows. When he reached Ginny's door, he knocked softly, and it opened almost instantly.

Hermione slipped out, clutching a book and looking slightly sheepish. "Ron's waiting," Harry whispered, tilting his head toward Ron's room. "If you get caught, I suppose you'll tell them you were just doing late-night revisions with him?" He grinned and nodded to the book in her hand, unable to resist a light jab.

Hermione huffed, though her smile betrayed her. "At least I have an excuse planned. What will you do?" She leaned in closer, lowering her voice.

Harry shrugged. "Suppose I'll wing it," he said. "It's worked so far."

Hermione rolled her eyes but laughed softly. "Goodnight, Harry," she said with a fond smile. "And…thank you. For earlier."

Harry nodded, his throat tightening slightly. "Goodnight, Hermione."

She padded quietly toward Ron's room. Harry opened Ginny's door and slipped inside, releasing the stealth charms with a whispered incantation. She was sitting up in bed, her hair spilling over her shoulders and catching the faint light from her wand on the bedside table.

"Took you long enough," she teased, though her smile softened her words. "I almost thought you weren't coming."

"I almost didn't," Harry admitted as he shut the door softly behind him. He cast a quick Muffliato and turned back to her. "I kept hearing your dad's voice in my head, going on about propriety."

Ginny rolled her eyes, tugging him further into the room. "You mean the talk he gave after Mum left us all pink-faced and muttering into our tea? You can't just shake that off?"

Harry smiled sheepishly, sitting on the edge of her bed. "I feel a bit guilty, sneaking around after all that."

Ginny scooted closer, resting her head against his shoulder. "I don't," she said simply. "Mum and Dad know we're not kids anymore, even if they don't want to admit it." She tilted her head to look up at him. "How are you feeling? After everything today?" 

Harry tilted his head to rest against hers, letting out a long breath. "I told everyone about dying," he said quietly, as though the words might shatter the fragile stillness of the room. "And about…all of it. I didn't think I'd feel all that better saying it out loud, but I do. Like it's not all trapped inside me anymore."

Ginny reached for his hand, lacing her fingers through his. "You needed to say it. You've been carrying it alone for too long."

"Yeah," he murmured, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. He glanced at her, meeting her brown eyes in the dim light. "But even after all that, the only time I really feel…okay is when I'm with you. I slept better last night than I have in…maybe my whole life, Ginny." The words felt thick in his throat, but the feeling of Ginny's hand in his steadied him.

"The nights before—even now that we're not hiding and running," he said, shaking his head in frustration. "It's like all the grief just drowns me. I can't stop thinking about everything we lost."

Ginny squeezed his hand and nodded. "Me too," she admitted, her voice low. "The quiet makes it harder to ignore, like the silence gets too loud."

Harry exhaled again, a flicker of relief breaking through the tightness in his chest. "What if we make a deal?" he said suddenly.

Ginny raised a curious eyebrow. "What kind of deal?"

Harry turned to face her. "When we're here—together, like this—it's just for us. The world outside your door doesn't exist unless we need it to. We're allowed to forget about everything for a while."

"You mean avoid it?"

"No," Harry said, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Not avoid. Just…procrastinate. We talk about it again in the morning, anything that we let ourselves ignore at night. But for now, this is our time."

Ginny's lips curved into a smile, her gaze softening. "Procrastinating grief. Sounds ridiculous."

"It's not supposed to make sense," Harry teased gently, pressing a kiss to her temple. "But I'm very good at procrastinating, if you hadn't noticed. I'll teach you."

"I'll hold you to that," Ginny whispered. Her voice was light and teasing, but he caught a desperate edge to it and he resolved to make sure he was as steady for her as she'd been for him that day.

But that was something for Tomorrow's Harry. He slipped off his glasses and set them on her bedside table, letting himself relax as Ginny curled into his side. For now, the world could wait. They had each other, and that was enough.

Chapter Text

May 12, 1998

Despite all the people Harry had lost in his life, funerals were a strange, foreign thing to him. Grief had always been something private, a silent rage inside, not a public display of tears and farewells. He couldn't even remember if there had been a funeral for his parents. Sirius's death had left him burning with fury, Dumbledore's had left him numb, and Moody's—well, he'd barely had time to think at all. Those had all been isolated moments of sadness and anger—moments confined to singular losses.

But this—this was different. The week ahead loomed before him now, vast and terrible, like some horrible black storm. And Harry wasn't sure how he was meant to navigate it. And yet he knew he had to.

Because for all his grief, for all his pain, he was still alive. He'd died and been given the choice to return. That thought weighed on him as he prepared for the first of the funerals he was to attend. 

Colin Creevey's funeral was the first one he'd attended since Dumbledore's. Harry wanted—more than anything—to show up for every funeral of the more-than fifty brave witches and wizards that had lost their lives in the battle. But there were not enough hours in the day nor days in the week for him to possibly arrange that.

"Gin, you alright?" he asked gently after they had Apparated back to the Burrow. He hadn't known Colin like she had. It seemed that Ginny was friendly with almost everyone at Hogwarts. 

"No," she whispered, choking back a sob. "It's not fair. Colin—he…this absolute shit was all he ever got to experience from our world!" She wheeled around angrily, tears streaking down her face. "First Voldemort's stupid diary—and he never once held it against me or even joked about it! He was my friend. And now…"

Harry could feel the charge in the air around them as Ginny's anger sent her magic spiking wildly. He pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her.

"He loved magic, he loved it so damn much," she sobbed. "And all he got from it was pain."

"I don't…I don't think that's entirely true," Harry said softly, stroking her hair. She pulled back and glared at him in defiance. "I don't think he would have stayed and fought if all it gave him was pain. I think—I think all those photos he was taking are proof. He thought it was amazing. He loved it."

"That makes it worse, Harry!" Ginny shouted. "That he'll never get to…"

She collapsed back into him and sobbed again. Harry didn't say a word, only nodded mutely. For a fleeting moment, he tried to imagine what he would need to hear if their places were swapped—if it were him unraveling like this, and wondered just what he could say and how he could help her. Until he remembered that the roles had been reversed. Just days ago, it had been Ginny holding him together when he thought he might shatter.

So, he did the only thing that made sense: he followed her lead. Because she was so much better than him at these sorts of things. Always had been. He said nothing ; He didn't offer words that felt too small, too thin, for what she was feeling. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her and held her to him, just to let her know that he was there. That they were both there, and that he wasn't going anywhere.

Ginny had joined Harry, Ron, and Hermione up in Ron's attic room after dinner. She enjoyed the closeness and the familiarity of the situation; the two of them cuddled together on his camp bed, as close as propriety—and her brother —would allow while Ron and Hermione towed the line between bickering and flirting.

She'd been hesitant at first. It felt almost like an intrusion. She had only just gotten Harry to open up to her; and she to him. She had the sense that this thing between them was both incredibly profound yet incredibly fragile at the same time. 

No. That wasn't quite right. The thing between them, their relationship—though the term didn't sound at all meaningful enough—was strong. Stronger than either of them. And that was the problem. She knew that it would be easy to lose herself to it, block everything else out and just be " Ginny and Harry " rather than Ginny and Harry. It was impossibly tempting.

But she stopped herself. She couldn't be that way, not with everything still waiting in front of them. Funerals, rebuilding—hell, maybe even testifying to the Ministry. There was so much still ahead of them, and all she wanted to do was find a way to fall back into the easy place they'd been after that first kiss in the Gryffindor Common Room. In her daydreams, that's where things were, except the war had miraculously ended without violence—she even let her musings finally get Ron and Hermione together. It would have happened last summer, of course, sometime after or during Bill's wedding. 

"What do you reckon they're going to do about Quidditch?" Ron asked, shaking her from her musings. She turned to her brother. His head lay on Hermione's lap while she flipped absently through one of the books she'd saved. Witches in History: Forgotten Heroines of the Magical World was certainly a choice for reading, but Ginny was quite certain Hermione was never going to be a "forgotten" heroine. Not after what she'd done by the age of eighteen. 

"Can't believe you're thinking about Quidditch after all this," Hermione scolded lightly. She flipped a page and then went back to absently running her fingers through Ron's hair. 

Ron's eyes fluttered closed at the soft touch, and Ginny smiled. It was still wild to see them like that, so unconsciously comfortable with one another. Though she supposed they must have felt the same way when she and Harry had gotten together.

"I haven't gotten to play Quidditch in over a year," Ron pointed out. "Haven't even been on a broomstick, really."

"You flew on a broomstick just last week in the Room of Requirement," Harry pointed out.

"Saving Malfoy from his own bloody stupidity doesn't count," Ron muttered under his breath.

Ginny couldn't help but agree. She glanced at Hermione, expecting a sharp retort, but instead saw her shoot Ron a disapproving frown—though notably, she didn't argue the point.

"The pitch was destroyed," Ginny said. The words tasted bitter in her mouth. "But I can't imagine Hogwarts without it."

"There is a lot to do for rebuilding," Hermione said. She placed a bookmark and closed her book, then reached over to Ron's nightstand where a copy of the morning's Daily Prophet sat. She flipped a few pages in and handed the paper over to Ginny and Harry. 

Rebuilding Hogwarts: A New Era Begins
By Barnabas Cuffe, Editor-in-Chief

In the wake of the Battle of Hogwarts, the esteemed school of witchcraft and wizardry is beginning the monumental task of rebuilding. The grounds, which once rang with the chaos of combat, now stand as a solemn reminder of the courage displayed by students, staff, and allies alike.

Professor Minerva McGonagall, who has taken on the mantle of Headmistress in the aftermath of the battle, has pledged that the school will rise from the ashes stronger than ever. "The spirit of Hogwarts will never be broken," she said in a statement issued yesterday. "We will rebuild not only our walls, but the very heart of our community. The sacrifices made here will not be forgotten, and we will ensure that Hogwarts continues to be a place of learning, safety, and unity."

Reconstruction efforts have already begun, with teams of skilled wizards and witches working tirelessly to repair the damage to the castle and surrounding areas. Much of the damage was caused by the brutal bombardment during the battle, but thanks to the quick thinking of both magical and non-magical healers, the majority of Hogwarts' students and staff have begun their recovery.

While the physical rebuilding will take time, many are focused on healing the emotional scars left behind by Voldemort's reign. It is clear that Hogwarts' journey toward recovery will not be a quick one, but the school's resilience—and the unity of its people—will no doubt guide it through the difficult days ahead. As the rubble of war fades, a new era of hope and peace begins to take shape within the walls of the castle.

Ginny gave it a quick readthrough and then handed it back. The memories of the battle were still too vivid, and she didn't want to dwell on it for too long.

"Well what's the point of Hogwarts without Quidditch?" Ron muttered. Hermione scoffed and flicked his ear. "Hey!"

"I'm betting Professor McGonagall fixes the Quidditch pitch sooner rather than later," Harry muttered thoughtfully.

"With everything else that was damaged?" Hermione asked. She raised her eyebrows skeptically. "The Astronomy Tower, the Entrance Hall, the Courtyards, the Common Rooms…" She shook her head. "I know I don't love Quidditch the way you all do, but you have to admit Professor McGonagall probably has higher priorities."

"This is the same woman who bought me a Nimbus 2000 before my first ever match," Harry pointed out.

Hermione nodded reluctantly, but let the matter end.

"Merlin, I wish the brooms had made it," Ron muttered. Harry muttered something under his breath. "Bloody hell, that's right—your Firebolt fell when we were leaving your Aunt and Uncle's place. I wonder what happened to it."

"With my luck? Landed in some sort of aggressive magical hedge and got torn to pieces," Harry grumbled.

Ron chuckled, "Or some old bat is using it to sweep her front steps."

Ginny groaned. "I miss that broom," she muttered longingly. The thought of a Firebolt being used like that was physically painful. 

Harry nudged her with his shoulder and grinned. "Really, Gin? I didn't realize my broomstick was so…unforgettable."

Her heart pounded in her chest; in that moment he was suddenly the funny, snarky, teasing Harry that she'd fallen for. The one she could banter with for hours on end trying to make him blush. Ginny smirked, arms crossing as she threw Harry a pointed look. "Don't flatter yourself, Potter. I'm talking about the Firebolt, not you."

Hermione, trying but failing quite miserably to hide a smirk, raised an eyebrow and said dryly, "You might want to watch your phrasing, Ginny. The last thing we need is Ron having a meltdown because you're talking about riding Harry's broomstick." 

Ron nearly choked on his own breath, face going beet-red. "Oh, for Merlin's sake, Hermione!"

Harry flushed, though he tried to cover it with an awkward laugh. But Ginny was unbothered. She'd heard enough of those jokes from her dormmates after they'd gotten together to desensitize her well enough despite the fact that their physical relationship hadn't progressed nearly that far. 

She leaned closer to Ron, her voice dripping with false innocence. "Honestly, Ron. What else am I supposed to do with it? A broomstick is for riding."

Ron groaned, throwing a pillow in her direction. "Stop! Stop! That's it. I don't need these images. Girls, out. I need to have a talk with my best mate about what's appropriate to joke about around me."

"Careful, Ron," Ginny teased, ducking the pillow with a laugh. "You're starting to sound like Percy."

Hermione couldn't suppress a snicker as Ron scrambled to his feet in defeat. "I'm surrounded by lunatics," he muttered. He pointed to his door, "Out. Both of you."

Harry shook his head, cheeks still faintly pink, and shot Ginny a sideways glance as she grabbed her things and climbed off the camp bed. "You really don't make things easy for me, do you?"

Ginny grinned mischievously, leaning over him and planting a searing kiss that left Ron retching dramatically. "On the contrary, Potter. I'm much more interested in making them hard for you."

Harry groaned and dropped back to the bed. Hermione rolled her eyes as she picked up her book and followed Ginny out of Ron's room. "You two are incorrigible."

"You mean you've never thought about my brother's broomstick ?" Ginny teased. 

Hermione went bright red, and there was some cursing from Ron as he slammed the door behind them. Harry's laughter rang out and joined with hers, even over Ron's sputtering objections. Ginny's heart felt ten times lighter at the ease of it. And despite the cursing from her brother and Hermione's pink-tinged cheeks, she knew they felt it, too.

"Merlin, I needed that," Ginny said, wiping the tears out of her eyes. "I did not realize how much fun it would be for me." She threw her arm around Hermione's shoulders and led the way down the stairs toward their shared bedroom. "If I did I'd have pushed you two together ages ago."

"I don't think that would have worked," Hermione said, her voice low as they passed the door to her parents' room.

Ginny shrugged, "Details, details. Now, we were talking about you and my brother's broomstick."

"Ginny," Hermione hissed sharply. Glancing over her shoulder at Mum and Dad's door. "Please remember that one of us is a guest living in her boyfriend's house."

"Oh please," Ginny waved her off. "The only reason you and Harry haven't been granted ' favorite child ' status officially is because you're dating us and that would make it weird."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, that's what everyone always tells us."

"It's true," Ginny said pointedly. "Oh, don't worry. You'll get to see Ron squirm when you bring him to your parents."

She noticed an immediate change in Hermione's posture. She seemed to shrink into herself. 

"Oh, are you—are you really that nervous about it?" Ginny asked. She'd never really met the Grangers outside of a trip to Diagon Alley, but how bad could they honestly be? A defensive thought struck her, "Do you think they won't approve?"

"Oh. No. It's—it's just…complicated at the moment," Hermione said softly. 

"Oh," Ginny offered lamely. "Sure. Yeah." She wasn't going to press; Hermione would open up when she was ready. "Do—do Ron and Harry know?" she asked, hesitant.

Hermione nodded, and Ginny exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "Good. Well, don't let those prats forget that you've been in this too. Make sure they know when it's your turn, yeah?"

Hermione spun around and pulled Ginny into a tight hug. When she pulled away, she quickly wiped a stray tear from her cheek. "I don't think enough people give you and your family the credit you all deserve," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "You're—you're all amazing."

Ginny returned the hug, squeezing her tightly. "You sure you're not just talking about my brother's broomstick?" she teased.

Hermione swatted her arm. "You are incorrigible."

Ginny slowed as they approached the landing outside George's room. She stared at the shut door. George had hardly left his room since they arrived back at the Burrow; most of the time Mum had been bringing him food directly to the room.

Hermione noticed the shift and glanced at Ginny. "You okay?"

Ginny hesitated for a moment before giving a small nod. "Yeah, I think...I just—" She steeled herself. "I'll be fine, Hermione," Ginny said quietly, offering a brief smile. "You go on ahead. I'll be down in a minute."

Hermione nodded, giving Ginny a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder before heading down the steps to Ginny's room. Ginny stood still in front of George's door for a moment, her heart aching. The whiplash between joy and sorrow felt painful. 

The light shining from beneath the door indicated that George was still awake, but Ginny hesitated to intrude. Fred was her brother, too, but she couldn't deny the bond the twins had shared. Always together, always causing trouble, always finishing the other's sentences and thoughts. 

She thought back to the moment when she'd seen Harry in Hagrid's arms and remembered the agony ripping through her chest. She'd had the moment of relief when Harry reappeared; George hadn't. He just had the pain.

She pushed the door open and her breath caught at the sight of George on his bed, staring down at a pile of old joke products. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across his face. There was a stillness about him that made her throat tighten.

"George?" she asked softly, her voice barely a whisper, unsure whether to intrude or just offer him the space he needed.

Her presence seemed to reach him more than anything else. Without looking up, George sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping even further. 

"I'm fine, Ginny," he mumbled.

Ginny stepped inside, closing the door behind her, and took a seat next to him. "I've heard that enough times from Harry to know when that's not true," she said, trying for levity. 

George sighed again, nodding in defeat. "I'm not…fine," he admitted. "I feel like…like I'm only half here."

Ginny nodded, knowing there was nothing she could say to help ease that pain.

"I keep…waiting for someone to finish what I'm trying to say," he said. His hands gripped his legs tightly. "For someone to say what I'm thinking without me even having to ask." She wrapped her arms around him and tried to hold back her tears for his sake. "I…I keep getting letters," he motioned to a pile of unopened letters on the floor. 

"From Lee, from Angie, 'Licia, Katie. Oliver, too. But I—I can't even open them." He collapsed into himself. "They always used to be addressed to us both. 'To: Fred and George'—we didn't have secrets from each other. We—we shared everything. And now…

"Fred knew me better than I knew myself," George muttered. "Everything I have in my life…everything I am, it's because of him."

Ginny swallowed hard, trying to imagine that kind of loneliness on top of what she was already feeling. 

Ginny opened her mouth to speak, but the words wouldn't come. She felt the tight, crushing weight of grief in her chest as memories of Fred flooded her mind. They weren't just memories of Fred—they were memories of Fred and George. The two of them as a pair, inseparable. Playing Beater for Gryffindor. Testing Skiving Snackboxes on unsuspecting First Years. Their unforgettable escape from Hogwarts in a blaze of fireworks.

What could she possibly say? There were no words that could comfort George when she couldn't even comfort herself. So instead, she simply clung to her brother, burying her face in his shoulder, and cried with him. They held each other, letting their grief spill out, unspoken but shared.

Nearly half an hour later, their sobs had quieted, replaced by the heavy silence of exhaustion. George finally pulled back and managed a small, tired smile. "You should get some sleep, Ginny," he said hoarsely.

"You too," she replied softly, her voice thick. He hugged her tightly—a solid, grounding embrace that reassured her that George was still there, even if he wasn't sure himself. She gave him a teary goodnight and slipped from his room.

When she returned to her own, she found Hermione still awake, sitting on the bed with a book open in her lap. But it was clear she hadn't been reading. Her face was streaked with tears, and she gave Ginny a small, watery smile.

Ginny could only manage a tight nod in return before climbing into bed. Hermione set her book aside and extinguished the lights, leaving the room in darkness. Ginny clutched her pillow tightly, her tears spilling over once again. She pressed her face into the pillow, muffling her sobs as best she could, trying not to disturb Hermione—but knowing, deep down, that her grief couldn't be hidden.

May 13, 1998

It was the following day, after they'd returned from Lavender Brown's funeral, that Harry and Ginny finally found a quiet moment with Ron and Hermione. For days now, the four of them had been caught in their own orbits; interacting, talking briefly, but keeping largely to themselves. 

The rest of the Weasleys, perhaps too lost in the whirlwind of their own burdens, hadn't pressed them. Or maybe they'd simply understood—allowed the space to mourn in their own ways. Harry knew that would change eventually, but for the moment he allowed this small flicker of light to push back against their grief.

The four of them sat together in the garden, tucked away behind a tall hedge where the sounds of the bustling household faded into the background. The evening air was cool, smelling of damp earth and wildflowers. A single lantern floated above them, its soft glow illuminating their tired faces as they sat in silence.

"So, eh…tomorrow, yeah?" Ron muttered awkwardly, his eyes fixed on the floor. After a moment, he glanced up and met Harry's gaze. 

Harry swallowed hard and nodded. Tomorrow. Tonks and Remus's funerals. 

What went unsaid, however, was that the next day would be Fred's. It seemed like all of the Weasleys—outside of the planning—were doing everything they could to busy themselves and not let themselves dwell on it.

"I imagine Mrs. Tonks will be there with…with Teddy," Hermione said.

"That's what Dad was saying," Ron said. "I imagine the whole Order will be there…what's left of us, anyway."

"The Ministry, too. Certainly the Aurors," Ginny added. "Tonks was…everyone loved her."

"We'll probably see a lot of students and staff from Hogwarts as well," Hermione said. "Professor Lupin…despite how his time as a professor ended, was well-liked by most everyone."

"After the Chamber I was so scared to come back to school. Especially when the dementors came on the train," Ginny admitted. She toyed nervously with a loose thread on her shirt sleeve. "He helped me feel like I had control again. Like I wasn't a victim of what had happened."

"He taught me how to cast a Patronus as a Third Year," Harry said. He shook his head, fighting back tears. "Not enough people give him credit for that."

"He was the best Defense teacher we've ever had by quite a margin," Hermione agreed. A pained smile lit her face. "Present company excluded."

"Yeah," said Ron. "Wait—what?" Harry was equally confused.

Ginny nudged Harry in the ribs. "Face it, Potter, after Remus you were the best Defense Professor Hogwarts had while we were there."

Harry frowned and shook his head. "I think that's a stretch to even consider me in the group." Even so. It was nice to be talking about anything else.

"Professor Moody was pretty good, too," said Ron. "We learned a whole load of things from him."

"Disguised Death Eaters don't count," said Harry. 

The air went out of the conversation and Harry fought the urge to kick himself. The mention of Death Eaters had brought reality crashing back.

"Do we know where it's…going to be?" Ginny asked.

"Godric's Hollow," Harry whispered. The other three shot him curious looks. Biting his lip, he continued, "Profes—Remus mentioned it to me after Sirius died." Another stab of grief shot through him, but it was older and he'd grown more used to it. "He didn't have…many people he was close to after that. He and Tonks weren't yet—" 

He shook his head. "Anyway, he didn't have many close friends still alive. He still felt Sirius and my dad were his best friends, so he wanted—if something happened—to be buried beside my parents in Godric's Hollow."

Hermione shot him a pained look. "Harry…"

"It's okay. I'm okay," he said with a watery smile. He took a deep breath, "I think…I can finally let that story end. It seems…right."

"And Tonks…?"

"She would've wanted to be with Remus," Ginny said. She sniffed. "She was mad for him—knew how important those few friends he had were to him. She was always telling me how lucky she was that she had him. How she couldn't believe someone with such a good and selfless heart would notice her. How she didn't deserve him."

"And Remus felt the same about her," Harry said with a wistful smile. 

"They were both mental," Ron choked back a sob.

"And brilliant," Harry said. 

"Tonks never treated me like a child," Ginny said. She rubbed her arms against the chilly air and leaned against him. "Everyone else around us was trying to keep the war from us, keep us safe. But she…"

"She knew it would come for us anyway. She was young, too. Knew what that was like," Hermione said with a sad smile. "I always admired that about her. She'd gone straight into the Ministry after Hogwarts. As an Auror no less. No pure-blood favoritism either. She'd made it all on her own merit." Hermione looked pained. "She showed me that was possible."

"She'd always wanted siblings," Ginny said hoarsely. "She told me she envied us. She loved getting to be around us even though things were bad."

"She was bloody fun. Would've been a great older sister," Ron said. He gave Ginny a wry look. "She'd have been the new favorite, Ginny. You wouldn't stand a chance."

"Would be worth it," Ginny said. "It was nice having her to talk to. Everyone else would've given me grief. She just listened. Let me vent." She sighed heavily. "And during all that time at Grimmauld Place, she taught me all sorts of tricks—hexes, how to dodge spells, how to look after myself. She made me feel strong, she believed in me. Even when I bloody well didn't."

"Do you think Mrs. Tonks was alright with the arrangement?" Hermione asked. 

Harry nodded. "Her family disowned her when she married Ted. Blasted her right off the Family tapestry," he said, wondering if that was where Sirius had gleaned the inspiration. "I don't think she would've stood in the way."

Ginny gripped his hand in hers. Across from them, Hermione leaned into Ron. He was still amazed sometimes at how close the two of them were. He'd always known it was a possibility, of course, assuming that neither of them killed the other, but seeing it first hand was something very different.

There was a long silence, and Harry could feel the inextricable pull of the conversation moving to the next funeral. And he knew none of them were ready for that quite yet. 

"I'm going to meet Teddy tomorrow," he said softly. 

"That's right, mate, you've got a godson," Ron goggled. "Bloody mental, isn't it?" Hermione smacked him on the arm. "What? I'm just saying. He's a bit young to have a godson, no?"

"Sirius wasn't all that older than I am now when my parents made him my godfather," Harry pointed out. 

He'd been struggling with that notion ever since surviving the battle. The idea that he would soon be older than his parents ever got the chance to be still gnawed at him. 

"You're not seriously considering taking care of a child, Harry," Hermione said nervously. 

Harry shook his head. "No. I just—I don't—I wouldn't know—No. I just want to meet him," Harry said. "I want the chance to be there for him the way Sirius wanted to be there for me when I was growing up."

"I think that's beautiful," Ginny said.

"Have you thought about Kingsley's offer yet?" Ron asked. 

"Thought about it? Yeah. But…" Harry shrugged.

"I talked with Neville at…err…earlier today," Ron said, still dancing around the word "funeral." He gave Harry a pointed look. "He reckons he's going to take the offer."

"Really?" Harry asked.

"He said Rodolphus Lestrange is still loose," Ron answered. "Got away after the battle."

Harry nodded grimly. There were a lot of Death Eaters and followers of Voldemort still at large. It made him sick to his stomach to think about. This feeling that there was still so much to do after the war ended. 

"I'm going to finish Hogwarts," Hermione said. 

Harry smiled and Ron rolled his eyes. "Someone call the Prophet," Harry said with a laugh. He felt Ginny giggle against him.

"I'm not that predictable," Hermione objected sharply, folding her arms.

"You're consistent," Ginny amended with a smirk. It did little to ease the pinch between Hermione's brows.

"Consistently brilliant," Ron chimed in, grinning. Hermione's face softened, and with a fond smile, she pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

"Aww," Harry and Ginny teased in unison.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, just fuck off," Ron muttered, his ears burning red, but even he couldn't entirely hide the grin that tugged at his lips.

"Language, Ron," Hermione said sharply, swatting his arm with a disapproving glare.

"I was defending you!" Ron exclaimed, throwing his arms up in frustration. Harry grinned widely. It was great to see that some things never changed, and he was glad to see his two best friends so happy together despite how hard everything else was. It was a relief he hadn't realized he needed. 

"You'd think that now we're dating, she'd cut me some slack!" Ron grumbled, though the corners of his mouth betrayed a small, grudging smile.

"I could've told you that wasn't going to happen, Ronald," Ginny quipped, her grin mischievous. She leaned back, clearly enjoying his frustration.

"No one asked you, Ginerva," Ron drawled mockingly. "We'll see how cheery you are when Hermione's got your entire year's worth of revision timetables planned out before the first week's even over."

"It's our N.E.W.T. year," Hermione said pointedly, as though that explained everything.

Ron threw up his hands and gestured toward her, as if to say case in point, but Ginny only responded by sticking out her tongue at him.

"Nice to see that the two of you haven't changed either," Hermione said dryly, but there was a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. 

Harry had to admit, there was something comforting about seeing the youngest Weasleys up to their usual antics.

"How about you, Ron?" Harry asked. "Given any thought to Kingsley's offer?"

Ron's expression shifted, his shoulders tensing as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Err…no, mate. Haven't really had the head for it yet. What with…everything, you know?"

His voice trailed off, and Harry gave a small nod of understanding.

"I've been doing everything I can not to think about…Fred's…" Ron's voice faltered. He sucked in a shaky breath and finally whispered, "funeral."

Harry's heart clenched in his chest. "Whatever you need…" he began, his voice low and steady. He glanced at Hermione for support, then back to Ron and Ginny. "We're here for you. Just say the word."

Ron tightened his grip on Hermione's hand and gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. Ginny buried her face in Harry's shoulder, her breath coming in uneven sighs as she fought to keep her composure.

"I never really got to say goodbye to Sirius," Harry murmured, his gaze distant. "I just…lost it after he died. Trashed Dumbledore's whole office."

Ron managed a faint, fleeting smile. "Can you imagine, Ginny? Mum would go mental if we did something like that."

Ginny lifted her head slightly, her lips curving into a small, sad smile. "I keep thinking…Fred would be so disappointed if he saw us moping like this," she said quietly. "He wouldn't want us sitting here whispering."

Ron gave a reluctant chuckle. "He'd want something loud and messy."

"With an obnoxious number of explosions," Ginny added, her smile growing.

Hermione, ever practical, tilted her head. "Borderline illegal, no doubt."

Ron let out a genuine laugh, the kind Harry hadn't heard in days. "Definitely illegal."

"On a broom," Ginny finished, her eyes lighting up. For the first time in what felt like forever, a real laugh bubbled out of her—a laugh that Fred would've loved.

Harry watched them for a moment, something warm stirring in his chest. An idea struck him, sharp and sudden. He leaned down, kissed Ginny lightly on the cheek, and sprang to his feet.

"Be right back," he said, already dashing towards the Burrow, a grin spreading across his face.

Ginny watched Harry rush back into the house and turned to her brother with a raised eyebrow. But Ron just shrugged helplessly.

"Maybe he's cracked," Ron said. Hermione swatted his arm again and he rolled his eyes. "I'm joking. Stop smacking me."

Ginny shook her head, a smirk tugging at her lips as she watched Ron rub his arm. "Honestly, Ron, you'd think you'd learn by now."

"Learn what?" Ron grumbled. "That Hermione's got a mean right hook?"

Hermione sniffed, brushing invisible dust off her sleeve. "Perhaps to think before speaking."

Ron rolled his eyes, but Ginny noticed the faint tug of a smile on his lips. Before she could comment, Hermione turned toward the Burrow, her brow furrowing in thought.

"I'll go check on Harry," she said abruptly, as if only just deciding. "Make sure he hasn't, I don't know, tried to blow up the shed in some fit of inspiration."

Ron gave a short laugh. "In all honesty that's probably a perfectly reasonable way to honor Fred."

Ginny snorted softly at Ron's antics. "Well you're not entirely wrong," she said, though her brow remained furrowed as she gazed after Harry.

Hermione offered a small smile but didn't reply. She disappeared into the house, leaving Ginny and Ron alone.

"He's up to something," Ginny murmured, her voice laced with equal parts curiosity and concern.

"Of course he is," Ron replied, shaking his head. "It's Harry. He doesn't exactly do 'nothing' well, does he?"

Ginny glanced at her brother, her teasing smile fading. "Don't we all know it?" For a moment, neither of them spoke. The faint hum of the late afternoon, the chirping of distant birds, and the rustle of leaves filled the silence. Ginny finally broke it, her voice softer now. "Do you ever think about it, Ron? How long we've been involved in all…this ?"

Ron gave her a sidelong glance, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he sighed. "It's not fair, is it? None of it. Being that young and…and having to go through all of this," he said. "We've been wrapped up in Voldemort stuff since we were first years."

Ginny shrugged, though the motion was half-hearted. "I don't think any of us really got to be young, Ron. Not with everything that's happened."

"No I guess you're right," he muttered. He glanced up at the darkening sky. "Still, it was comforting in a way."

"Comforting, really?" Ginny's jaw tightened and she narrowed her gaze at her prat of a brother.

"Yeah," Ron shrugged. "I mean if eleven-year-old Ron and Ginny could survive and foil Voldemort's plans then I always figured seventeen-year-old us had a decent shot of it." 

Ginny let out a mirthless laugh, her gaze fixed on a cluster of daisies near her feet. "It's strange, isn't it? How fast it all happened. One day, it's school and Quidditch and homework, and the next…" Her voice trailed off, but Ron understood.

"And the next, it's war," he finished quietly. He shifted, plucking at the grass. "But you handled it, Ginny. Better than I ever did."

Ginny gave a short laugh. "You're kidding, right? You, Harry, and Hermione out there on the run, saving the world, destroying dark artifacts, while I was stuck at Hogwarts."

Ron shook his head. "That wasn't nothing, Ginny. You don't know how much it meant to Harry, knowing you were still fighting. Even if he doesn't say it, he noticed."

Ginny's jaw tightened, and she looked away, her gaze fixed on the horizon. "I don't even know if I want to go back," Ginny whispered, almost as if saying it aloud might make it more real. "The thought of walking those halls again…" She trailed off, shaking her head. "It's not just the memories, Ron. It's—" Her voice broke, and she bit her lip hard. "It's everything."

Ron shifted uncomfortably, clearly at a loss for words. "I can't imagine what it was like," he said finally, his voice low. "I mean, I heard the stories, but hearing and living it…"

"It was awful," Ginny said simply, her voice raw. "And I'm terrified that if I go back, it'll all come rushing back and I won't be able to get away or shake it off."

Ron swallowed thickly. "You don't have to go back," he said firmly. "Not if you don't want to. You'll be of age."

Ginny shook her head. "No, I do. I need to finish. For myself. To prove that I can and that it's not…Voldemort's school anymore. But that doesn't make it any easier."

"And being in Hermione's classes certainly won't help. You're in for it now," Ron muttered. 

Ginny shifted slightly, her arms crossing over her chest as she looked toward the Burrow's front door, where Hermione had disappeared moments ago. "You know," she began, her voice quieter now, "Hermione hasn't really talked much about her parents. Hasn't even sent a letter or let them know everything was settled."

Ron fidgeted with a stray thread on his jumper. "She hasn't told you, has she?"

"Told me what?" Ginny turned to him, concern knitting her brow. "What's going on?"

Ron sighed, glancing around as if to make sure they were truly alone. He lowered his voice. "Before we left, to go looking for the Horcruxes, she…wiped their memories. Made them think they didn't have a daughter. Sent them to Australia."

Ginny's eyes widened. "She what?" 

"She didn't have a choice," Ron said quickly, his voice defensive. "It was the only way to keep them safe. Voldemort would've used them against her—against us—if he'd had the chance."

Ginny's brow furrowed as she processed this. "So they're just…out there, somewhere, and they don't even know she exists?"

Ron nodded grimly. "Yeah. And she hasn't told anyone else. Not Mum, not Dad. I don't think she's even told Kingsley yet. Just me and Harry."

"That's…Merlin, that's awful," Ginny breathed. She couldn't imagine being as steady as Hermione had been for them—for Ron —since the battle ended if her entire family was just…missing.

"Once all this settles, I'm going with her to find them." Ron said, his tone firm. "To set things right. I…I owe her that much, after what I did."

Ginny's expression softened, and she reached out to squeeze his hand. "Ron, you didn't—"

"I did, Ginny," Ron interrupted, his voice low and heavy with guilt. "I left her. Left both of them. I shouldn't have, but I did. And she forgave me. She always does, doesn't she? But I'm not going to let her do this by herself. Not this time."

Ginny made to object but Ron interrupted her. "And I know Harry. He'll probably volunteer to come with me and Hermione when we go to find her parents. But he doesn't have to, and he shouldn't."

Ginny raised an eyebrow, her teasing tone breaking through the seriousness. "Oh, I see how it is. You just want some uninterrupted time with Hermione. A romantic getaway to Australia, no parental supervision."

Ron flushed, his ears turning red. "Yeah, that's exactly it. Nothing more romantic than tracking down long-lost parents with some complicated memory charm to undo."

Ginny studied him for a moment before nodding. "She's lucky to have you, you know."

Ron gave her a small, self-deprecating smile. "Yeah, well, I'll remind her of that next time she's smacking me for something stupid."

"Stop doing stupid things then."

Ron snorted. "I'll get right on that."

Ginny laughed lightly, but her face turned serious again as Ron leaned closer, his expression serious. "Look, Gin, I need you to keep an eye on Harry if he's not coming with us, alright?"

Ginny's brows furrowed. "Ron—"

"I mean it," Ron said, his voice taking on an edge of urgency. "He's…he's not telling us everything. I know he's not."

"What do you mean?" Ginny asked, her tone sharp with worry.

Ron hesitated, running a hand through his hair. "Ever since that curse…the one Voldemort hit him with. He's been hiding something. Even sharing a room, I haven't seen him without a shirt once. And I know Harry—shared a dorm with him since we were eleven—he's not exactly shy about stuff like that."

Ginny frowned, her concern deepening. "You think he's hurt worse than he's letting on?"

"I do," Ron said.

Ginny's face tightened, but she forced herself to stay calm. "He's always been like that, Ron. Keeping things to himself, thinking he has to deal with everything alone."

"That's why I need you. Why he needs you," Ron pressed. "You've got a way of getting through to him. You've always been good at that." He grinned. "It would drive Hermione mental, before all this. She'd needle and prod him and he'd just clam up. But I dunno—he's different with you."

Ginny felt her heart swell with his words. "Ron, I—"

"He's my best friend," Ron said, cutting her off. "And he's had shit luck in his life with people looking out for him, so I'm bloody protective of him."

"Oh, and you're not protective of me ?" Ginny raised an eyebrow. She had a vivid recollection of their row after he'd caught her and Dean snogging. Merlin, how she wished she could scrub that from her brain. 

"I've known you your whole bloody life, Ginny. You've been able to look out for yourself longer than I have," he shot back. "You've got brothers and parents and more friends than I think any of us realized. Harry has me and Hermione. So yeah, I'm going to worry about him."

He carded a hand through his hair. "You're the only person I—we—trust with him," Ron said. "Because I think you get it. You see him as Harry and not Harry Potter."

Ginny smiled faintly, her gaze softening. "The three of you have been looking out for each other for years. All those times you faced You-Kn—Voldemort; those ridiculous adventures—trolls, giant spiders, the Chamber of Secrets…"

Ron rubbed at his jaw. "Yeah, but it hasn't really been just the three of us for a while. Not since you and Harry got together. Maybe even before all that," he said, his voice quiet. He gave Ginny an unusually fond look. "Even when it was just the three of us out there looking for Horcruxes, Harry was still keeping an eye on you with the Marauder's Map. You were with him the whole time, in a way."

Ginny blinked, caught off guard by the thought. For a moment she considered telling Ron what Harry had confided in her about; how she'd been the last thing he pictured when Voldemort cursed him. But the urge left her quickly; there was something intensely intimate about that. Something that he'd shared with her and no one else. "I never…I didn't know that."

Ron shrugged. "He's always been like that about you. And now…now I think he's still trying to keep it all on his shoulders. But you're good for him, Ginny. He needs you."

Ginny's smile grew and her chest tightened at her brother's words. "Well, he's not going to get away with keeping secrets from me for long."

"That's the spirit," Ron said, grinning despite himself. "Just don't let him brood his way out of it."

Ginny chuckled, her worry easing just a little. "He won't. Trust me."

The room was quiet except for the muffled creaks of the Burrow settling for the night and Ron's steady breathing. Harry lay on the camp bed, his arms folded behind his head, counting the minutes until it felt late enough to move without causing suspicion. He didn't know what was worse—the anticipation or the way his stomach kept twisting in awkward knots.

Ron finally broke the silence. "This is bloody weird, isn't it?"

Harry snorted softly. "Yeah, a little."

"I mean," Ron went on, his voice low, "we've faced Death Eaters, giant spiders, and—you know—actual death. But sneaking around my parents' house feels more terrifying."

Harry laughed under his breath, relief breaking through the tension. "You'd think after everything else, this would be easy."

"Easy? Mate, you're sneaking down to spend the night with my sister. " Ron shifted, turning his head toward Harry with a disbelieving expression on his face. "And I'm encouraging it."

"Yeah," Harry admitted with a hopeless chuckle. "But it's not like we're—" He stopped himself, his face heating. "It's not what it looks like. I just—we both sleep better this way."

"I don't know whether to be hurt or disgusted." Ron let out a dry laugh and waved him off. "Just don't let Mum catch us either way." They both were quiet before Ron sighed. "Look, just—be good to her, alright? I mean it."

Harry nodded, though Ron probably couldn't see it in the dimly lit room. "I promise."

"Hey, what was it that you ran off to do earlier?" Ron asked.

Harry shook his head, hiding a smile. "Nothing yet."

They both fell quiet again, the weight of the moment stretching between them. Ron shifted, rustling the blankets as he rolled onto his side. Harry stayed put, staring at the door and willing his nerves to calm. Finally, with a deep breath and a glance back at Ron's now still form, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and quietly headed for the door.

"Night, Ron."

"Night."

Harry descended the steps, wand in hand. He cast a quick silencing charm on his feet and avoided what he'd found were the creakiest floorboards, stepping gingerly over them. He reached Ginny's room and pushed the door open with a soft knock.

Hermione rose from her camp bed, her cheeks red. She whispered a quick goodnight to him and Ginny, and headed up the stairs to Ron's attic room. Harry closed the door behind her as quietly as he could. Ginny was tucked under the quilt, her characteristic smirk curling her lips. The look she gave him set his heart racing in his chest.

"Hey, you," she said softly, scooting over to make room for him on the small bed.

"Hey, yourself," he said. 

"Took you long enough," she teased, propping herself up on one elbow. "What, did you and Ron get lost in a heartfelt discussion about Chudley Cannons strategies?"

Harry rolled his eyes and tried not to grin as he set his glasses on the bedside table. "Something like that," he muttered. He kicked off his socks and slid under the covers beside her.

Ginny poked his side, and he flinched away instinctively. "You'd better not keep me waiting next time. I might start thinking you've got cold feet."

He turned onto his side, facing her. His hand found her hip and his thumb traced the waist of her pajama bottoms. "Cold feet? You're the one who kept kicking me with those little ice-cubes of yours."

Ginny gasped in mock offense, shoving his shoulder lightly. "I don't kick!"

"You kick," Harry said, his voice softening as he caught her hand mid-shove. He kept hold of it, his thumb brushing her knuckles as their eyes met. Her smirk melted into something softer, her freckles glowing in the pale light.

"Maybe I was just trying to get closer," she said, her voice teasing but with an edge of honesty that made his chest tighten.

"How much closer?" Harry murmured, eyebrows wriggling. This was so much more like what they'd had the year before at Hogwarts. The teases, the flirting that led to snogging in alcoves or broom cupboards. 

Ginny raised an eyebrow, her expression turning playful again. "Oh, I could show you."

He barely had time to smirk before she leaned in, closing the gap between them. The kiss was warm, familiar, but still electric, as if every time they touched was the first.

Ginny shifted closer, her hand sliding up to his neck, tangling in his hair. The teasing, the banter—all of it fell away, replaced by the quiet hum of them, together. Harry's hand found her waist. He pulled her against him, deepening the kiss.

Ginny's fingers curled tighter in Harry's hair, sending shivers down his spine. He shifted, torn between trying to hide his arousal and not giving a damn. Her touch was unhurried but certain, her hands sliding from his hair to his shoulders, tracing the faint lines of old scars as though memorizing them.

Harry's hand lingered at her waist, the fabric of her nightshirt soft under his fingertips. His heart pounded in his chest as he tentatively trailed his fingers under the hem of her shirt and brushed his thumb over her hip. She jumped.

"Ticklish," she whispered, breaking the kiss just enough to tease him.

"I remember," he murmured back, grinning as he pressed his forehead against hers.

Ginny didn't let him dwell long; her lips found his again, her hands steady as they moved to cup his face, grounding him. The world beyond the bed faded into nothing—no worries, no expectations, just the warmth and sweetness of her.

His hand ventured up, skimming her back as he drew her closer, feeling the way she melted into him. There was something intoxicating about her confidence; the way she held him as though they had all the time in the world. It was thrilling and terrifying all at once. The intensity of it made his breath hitch as she kissed him again, deeper this time.

"Harry," she whispered, her voice softer now, like a secret meant only for him.

"Yeah?" he managed, his voice heavy.

Ginny smiled against his lips, her laughter warm and quiet. "Nothing. Just like saying your name."

Harry's heart pounded in his chest. He pulled her closer before finding her lips again. Harry froze as Ginny's hands slipped under his shirt, her touch warm against his skin. Her touch sent shivers racing through him. She moved slowly, deliberately, working her fingers up his chest, but the moment her fingers brushed the edge of the bruise across his chest, he flinched back.

"Ginny, wait," he said, pulling away slightly. His heart pounded and everything was suddenly all too real and uncertain again. "It's—it's not exactly…pretty."

Ginny's gaze was soft, her voice unwavering. "Harry, I don't care about 'pretty.' I care about you." She didn't let him retreat, her hands still resting lightly against his sides. "You don't have to hide anything from me. Together, right?"

Harry searched her face, looking for a trace of doubt, but that blazing look in her eyes gave him courage. Slowly—reluctantly—he sat up and let his hand fall away, giving her the space to push his shirt up. He moved to help her, wincing slightly as he eased the fabric over his head and tossed it aside.

Ginny's breath caught as her eyes fell on the dark, mottled bruise. It was healing, but slowly. The center was still a deep, angry purple that faded into shades of sick yellow and green along the edges. Her fingers hovered just above his skin, not touching, as though afraid to hurt him.

"Does it still hurt?" she asked quietly.

Harry huffed a faint laugh, though it lacked humor. "It doesn't feel great."

She reached out again, her touch firmer this time but still careful as her fingers ghosted over his collarbone and down to the edge of the bruise. Harry flinched but didn't pull away.

"Does this hurt?" she asked, her fingers brushing lightly along the edge of the bruise.

"Only a bit," he said.

"This?" she asked, leaning forward and placing a tender kiss at the center of the bruise.

His breath hitched. "Not…really," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. The feather-light touch of her lips on his chest made it hard to form words.

Her hands didn't falter, her touch deliberate, as though she was tracing the battle he'd fought and won and etching it into her memory. "You shouldn't have to carry all of this alone," she said, her voice thick.

"I'm used to it," Harry muttered, but Ginny shook her head.

"Well, get un-used to it, Potter," she said. She straddled his waist, her hands sliding to cup his face and her eyes locking onto his. "Because I'm here, Harry. For all of it. For you."

He couldn't find the words to reply, his throat was too tight. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers, and let out a shaky breath. She deserved words, to let her know just how much she meant to him with no doubt or room for interpretation. But something held him back; the part of him that could form words had never put those specific ones together

Ginny pulled back and sat up, a playful glint in her darkening eyes. "My turn," she said with a smirk, tugging at the hem of her shirt.

Harry blinked. "What?" This was suddenly further than they'd ever pushed the physical part of their relationship during those short few weeks they'd been together. 

"It's only fair," she teased, her grin widening as she pulled her shirt off in one smooth motion. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders, and she laughed softly at Harry's wide-eyed expression.

"You don't play fair," he muttered, though there was no heat in his words, just awe.

"Never have," Ginny quipped, leaning closer.

Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His heart pounded thunderously in his chest. He raised a hand and traced the line of her shoulder, down along her collarbone, over the curve of her breast, and back down to her side. Her face flushed but her eyes never strayed from him. 

He pulled her back to him, skin-to-skin, and his lips found hers again. His fingers ran over her back, feather touches along her spine. Hers raced over him and he shivered as her nails scraped his skin. For the first time that day, the heaviness of grief lifted a little.

Chapter Text

May 14, 1998

The rain was light, a mist that settled over Godric's Hollow like a shroud. The small churchyard, tucked behind a weathered stone chapel, was filled with witches and wizards who had braved the dreary weather to pay their respects. Harry stood near the front, surrounded by the Weasleys and Hermione. Insulated against the crowd of Order members, Aurors, Hogwarts professors and students. Even so, he could not help but overhear the murmurs and whispers behind him.This was not supposed to be about him. None of the funerals were supposed to be about him. And yet…someone always seemed to try and turn it that way.

The damp chill crept through his robes, clawing at him almost like a dementor's presence, and he did his best to blend into the crowd. He wished, briefly, that he had some chocolate, and his heart ached.

His gaze was fixed on the simple headstone, shared between Remus and Tonks as his parents' was, their inscriptions etched freshly into the stone face.

Remus John Lupin
Friend, Teacher, Father, Hero
10 March 1960 – 2 May 1998

Nymphadora Tonks Lupin
Our Light in the Darkness
25 November 1973 – 2 May 1998

Teddy Lupin, wrapped in Mrs. Tonks's arms, let out a soft whimper, as though sensing the solemnity of the occasion. Harry swallowed down the lump in his throat. What was he supposed to say to Mrs. Tonks, who had lost her daughter, her son-in-law, her husband, her entire family? What could he possibly say to the baby in her arms, a child who would never know the parents who had fought so bravely for a world he was too young to understand?

He thought of his own parents, of the stories and secondhand memories, of growing up wondering about people he'd never had the chance to know. Remus and Tonks were gone. All that was left of them now was a boy too small to understand his loss and the promise Harry had made to be there for him.

Harry was thankful for the distraction when Kingsley rose and stepped in front of the assembled mourners. He looked older and more tired than Harry had ever seen him before.

"I asked to speak today to honor the life of Nymphadora Tonks Lupin, a woman of immense courage, unwavering loyalty, and a heart that could brighten the darkest of days," Kingsley began. His voice rang out, calm and strong despite the hurt he was carrying. "I first met Nymphadora—or 'Tonks' as she demanded we call her—when she was a fresh recruit in the Auror Office." He shook his head sadly and choked back a sob. 

"Forgive me, I have buried many friends this week," he said. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. Harry took some strength from that as well—if Kingsley could gather the strength to speak of his close friends, Harry would, too. Beside him, Ginny clasped his hand gently. He was immeasurably thankful for her presence. 

"Tonks was full of energy, wit, and a talent for transformation that kept us all on our toes." Kingsley paused, grinning fondly. "What stood out to me was her determination—not just to master her craft but to make the world safer, kinder." Kingsley glanced down at Mrs. Tonks and Teddy and smiled. "All of us grizzled, hardened, old fools would call that 'naive'—in fact only Alastor Moody didn't. Which really should have been our first clue that Tonks was better than we deserved.

"Tonks was more than a colleague; she was my friend." And here, Kingsley's voice hitched again. Harry felt Ginny tense beside him and choke through a sob. "She brought light and laughter into the grim realities we often faced. As an Auror, she was fearless but fair; as a person, she was endlessly compassionate, a rare blend that made her an extraordinary woman.

"During the war, Tonks proved time and again the depth of her courage and conviction. She fought not just for a better world but for love—for Remus, and later for her son Teddy; and for the family we all became through that shared struggle. Even in the face of unimaginable fear, she stood firm, believing in the power of unity and hope. Her sacrifice is a reminder of the price of freedom and the strength it takes to fight for it. I will always carry the memory of her laugh, her determination, and her endless capacity for joy and love. 

"Let us remember Tonks as she was: a warrior, a friend, a devoted mother, and above all, a beacon of light in our darkest hours. I hope you rest easy, Tonks—you've earned it, my friend. And—and I will do my best to see that the world you fought for comes to be."

A quiet ripple of polite applause moved through the gathered mourners, mingling with murmured words of agreement and approval. Kingsley walked with solemn purpose toward Mrs. Tonks. He handed her Tonks's Auror badge with both hands, followed by a polished wooden case that Harry knew must contain her wand. Mrs. Tonks's fingers trembled as she accepted them. Kingsley offered her a small, teary smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, then glanced down at Teddy with a warmth that, for an instant, softened the heavy air. He placed a steadying hand on Mrs. Tonks's shoulder before turning back to the gathering.

Reaching the front once more, Kingsley spoke again, "During our time together, I had the privilege of growing close to Remus John Lupin as well," he began, his lips curving into a fleeting, knowing smile that lit his otherwise solemn face. "We didn't…travel in the same circles during our time at Hogwarts, and we were not in the same year. In fact, very few people were ever truly allowed into Remus's world."

Kingsley paused, letting his words settle. "But those of us fortunate enough to be welcomed into his circle were better for it." His gaze swept across the crowd before it came to rest on Harry. "And now, Harry Potter has asked to speak on behalf of those who knew Remus best, those who he trusted most."

Kingsley nodded once to Harry, stepping back to give him the floor.

Harry stepped forward, his feet feeling heavier than they had a moment ago. He paused for a moment, letting his gaze travel over the mourners. His eyes roamed over the faces gathered there: Mrs. Tonks, pale but stoic, clutching baby Teddy close to her chest. The Weasleys stood together like a wall of red, and he drew strength from their presence. Nearby, the Hogwarts professors were gathered, their expressions solemn but proud, as they paid their respects to a man who had been one of their own. 

A little further back, a cluster of Aurors stood straight-backed in black robes. Beyond them, the sea of faces that once filled Hogwarts classrooms stretched endlessly: former students who had learned from Remus Lupin, who had come to honor the teacher who had taught them courage alongside Defense Against the Dark Arts. 

Harry drew in a steadying breath. His heart pounded in his chest, but he willed his voice to stay firm.

"Remus Lupin, along with Sirius Black, was my father's best friend," he began, his voice quiet but unwavering. "But more than that, they were his brothers in every way that mattered."

As he spoke, Harry's mind flickered back to the moments that shaped his connection to Remus. He remembered the first time Remus had spoken of his father—not as a distant hero, but as James Potter, the prankster, the loyal friend, the man who had made mistakes and laughed at himself for them.

"Remus was the first person I'd ever met who could tell me stories about my dad as his friend," Harry said. A smile tugged at his lips. "Through Remus, I got glimpses of a family I'd thought was lost forever. They felt alive through him."

"But when I first met Remus, I didn't know any of that. All I knew was that he was the first Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who actually cared. He wanted us to learn not just spells, but how to believe in ourselves. He showed us that even when the odds were stacked against us, we could fight back."

Harry paused, his throat tightening. He let his eyes travel to the modest grave prepared for Remus, resting beside Sirius and his parents. "Remus had a strength that most people underestimated," he said, his voice quieter now, almost as if speaking to the man himself. "He wasn't loud or flashy, and he never sought attention. He carried burdens no one should have to bear, but he bore them with dignity and kindness. Life didn't always treat him kindly in return, but he didn't let it make him bitter. He chose to fight—not just for himself, but for a world that could be better, for the people he loved."

The words came slower now, heavier. "It was hard for Remus to let people in. He kept people at arm's length, even when it broke his heart to do it. It's why I'm so glad that he and Tonks found each other. Because they were so perfect for each other. Tonks had this way of making people feel like they belonged, even when they didn't believe it themselves. After everything he'd been through—after all the pain, the loneliness, the loss—there was love. Real, stubborn, messy love. And in the end, that's what stays behind, isn't it? That's what matters."

Memories of Remus's quiet insight and Tonks's laughter flooded back to him. He wanted to say something more; to let those who had come together to share in that grief understand just how wonderful they had been as people, but words seemed insufficient, trapped behind the knot in his chest. That had ice-cold fingers gripping his heart tightly. 

His gaze landed on Ginny. She was already looking back at him, her eyes filled with a quiet determination that struck him like lightning. Her eyes wide and shimmering; fighting against despair and grief and tears for him ; staying strong for him despite all the impossible pain she was feeling, too. His heart ached for her in a way it never had before, so fiercely it was almost unbearable. And yet he had never been more grateful that his heart belonged to her.

Harry's gaze dropped to the ground for a moment before he lifted it again, he fought back the tears that threatened to fall. He raised his wand, just as Remus had taught him, his voice trembling slightly as he whispered, " Expecto Patronum."

A shimmering silver stag burst forth from the tip of his wand, illuminating the gray, overcast day with its brilliance. It stepped forward and paused as if waiting. The crowd watched in silence as the stag bowed its great antlered head. Then there was a rush of whispers from the mourners, and one by one, other glowing shapes began to materialize. Ginny's horse cantered alongside it, Ron's dog and Hermione's otter appeared next joined as well. 

More wands lifted, their light adding to the growing brilliance. Harry counted Kingsley's lynx, McGonagall's cat, Mr. Weasley's weasel, and Luna's hare; and among the shimmering menagerie, Harry noticed unfamiliar shapes: a hummingbird flitting gracefully, a sturdy toad crouching low, a clever fox flicking its tail.

They stood together, a dazzling congregation of hope and memory, their light cutting through the heavy fog of grief. For a moment, they seemed to be the only things moving. Then, as if by some unspoken agreement, the creatures faded one by one, dissolving into the air.

As Harry stepped back into the fold, the weight of his grief felt just a little lighter. The Weasley family surged forward, surrounding him in a sea of embraces. He held onto each of them tightly, drawing strength from their shared sorrow and grief. When he finally released them, his arms stayed firmly around Ginny, her presence anchoring him in a way nothing else could.

The rain began to ease, the mist lifting slightly as the service came to a quiet close. Harry stood watch over the headstones of his parents and their best friends as the mourners began to leave. He whispered perfunctory "thank you"s to those who stopped to offer their condolences, but his eyes never met theirs; they never moved from the damp grey stones. And slowly, they left as well until only Harry, the Weasleys, Hermione, and Mrs. Tonks remained.

"We'll give you a moment," Mr. Weasley said softly, patting Harry gently on the shoulder. He motioned back towards the front of the church. "We'll be just beyond."

When Ginny made to leave, Harry refused to let go of her hand. He could feel her gaze on him when he did, and he fixed her with a look that he hoped could convey just how badly he needed her to stay. She seemed to understand. With a small nod, she leaned into him, her touch a quiet reassurance. Her fingers tightened around his.

Then it was just them, Mrs. Tonks, and Teddy.

The last time he'd seen her, Tonks had been alive. Ted had been alive. Remus had been alive. He'd been too focused on the war and the escape from Privet Drive to even think about what she might have been going through. Now, she was alone in a way that made Harry's own loneliness seem trivial. He thought of the Weasleys waiting for him. He thought of Hermione and Ron standing as closeby as they could without being rude. He thought of Ginny's hand in his. He thought of the grief they were all sharing and how it seemed that much more bearable for the mere fact they were sharing it. 

Teddy broke the silence first. A fussing sound that threatened to turn into a cry until Mrs. Tonks readjusted him, rocking him in her arms and whispering soothing noises. Harry was struck by the sudden shift in her; how her devotion to Teddy and his need for her overpowered the grief that had echoed so horribly in her eyes just moments before.

When her eyes met Harry's, he felt a jolt of guilt and fear—guilt for being alive when so many others weren't; fear that she might blame him for what had happened to her family.

"Harry," she said softly, her voice thin but steady. There was no accusation in her voice, only a quiet, painful acknowledgment of the weight they shared. She shifted Teddy slightly and the baby's head peeked out from the blanket. Harry's breath caught. Teddy's hair was a soft tuft of turquoise.

"Is he…" he breathed.

"A Metamorphmagus," Mrs. Tonks said with a watery smile. "Hasn't been much for pink though."

Beside him, Ginny choked out a laugh despite herself.

"He's brilliant. I bet Tonks loved that," Harry said. He couldn't pull his eyes away from Teddy. 

"Oh, Remus had a fair bit of fun with that, too," Mrs. Tonks said pointedly. "He started trying to get Teddy to match colors with whatever he was wearing. I think he was going quite stir-crazy."

Harry's heart ached as he thought of Remus—newly a father, caught between fear and excitement, yet bursting with the joy of watching his son's first bit of magic. The image of Remus, so full of hope for Teddy's future despite everything, was almost too much to bear.

"He would've been a great dad, Mrs. Tonks" Harry said.

"Oh, he was, Harry," Mrs. Tonks insisted. Tears fell silently down her cheeks and she turned her gaze from Teddy to Harry. "They didn't get to be parents for very long, but they were—both of them were…" She fought to hold his gaze. Her bottom lip trembled as she took a great, heaving breath. "They were brilliant. I can promise you that."

Another moment of silence passed between them before Harry worked up the nerve to mention what he had intended from the start.

"I don't know if…if Remus got around to telling you," he began tentatively. "He showed up at Bill and Fleur's when Teddy was born. He asked me to…err…to be Teddy's godfather." Mrs. Tonks turned back to Teddy and nodded. "I don't know—I'm not…" 

"Harry, it is an enormous responsibility to raise a child," Mrs. Tonks said carefully. "I hope you're not suggesting—"

He shook his head and tried again. "No. Please. I don't—I don't want to take Teddy from you. I just want to help," he said. He glanced down at the tiny baby in her arms and then to the stone marker bearing Sirius's name. "I want to try and be the type of godfather Sirius would have been if everything hadn't…"

"You would have been a terror if Sirius had raised you," Mrs. Tonks said, a teasing gleam in her eyes. "He would have spoiled you rotten."

"Then I guess I've got some catching up to do," he teased back with a sniffling laugh.

Mrs. Tonks laughed. "You look very much like your father, Harry, but I see a great deal of Sirius in you as well," she said fondly. 

"He always said you were his favorite cousin," Harry said.

"Not a high bar to clear, I imagine," Mrs. Tonks tried for a joke, and Harry couldn't help thinking of Dudley Dursley; his own favorite and least favorite cousin.

Mrs. Tonks sighed and glanced down to the stone bearing Sirius's name. "It was very kind of Kingsley to arrange this for Sirius as well." Harry nodded, realizing again just how different Kingsley was to the other Ministers he'd met. 

"Part of me worried about putting the three of them together again," Harry said with a chuckle. "I've been hearing about how much trouble they get into together for years."

Mrs. Tonks laughed and wiped the tears from her eyes. "Well, Dora is probably feeling right at home then."

"Mum was probably beside herself when Remus fell in love with someone more like the rest of the Marauders," Harry shook his head with a laugh. Mrs. Tonks gave him a look of vague recognition. He shrugged. "It's what they called themselves. They always seemed to search out trouble."

"Well at least the trouble they get into now will be…" She seemed to struggle to find the word.

"On," Harry supplied.

"On," Mrs. Tonks nodded. She glanced down at the row of stones. "I think, for now, the Marauders' work is done."

"Mischief managed," Ginny muttered beside him. Harry breathed in sharply.

"Sorry?" Mrs. Tonks asked.

"Oh, that's—that's just something they used to say when…" Harry struggled with how to explain the significance of those two words. "When they were done getting into trouble for the night."

"Did they?" Mrs. Tonks asked, her eyes dancing with surprise and delight. "For such troublemakers they were really quite romantic."

"I'm really proud of them," Harry began, his voice faltering as he searched for the right words. "I'm so glad I got to know them—that they believed in me, trusted me with Teddy." His throat tightened, but he forced himself to continue. "I've never been more proud of anything in my life." He swallowed hard, willing the lump in his throat to ease. "I'll do my best to live up to what they wanted... to what they hoped for."

Mrs. Tonks turned to him suddenly, and he felt her hand on his arm. "Oh, Harry, I don't think you will ever truly understand how highly they all thought of you," she said. "I'll admit I had some… reservations when Remus wanted to name you godfather. But…knowing what you've gone through; hearing you today…they could not have chosen better. They would be so proud of you. All of them." She gestured to the five names before them. "For what it's worth. I am, too."

Ginny gave his hand a squeeze.

"Thank you, Mrs. Tonks," Harry said.

"It's Andromeda, Harry. Or Andi," she corrected gently, her tone firm but warm. "We're family, you and I. Several ways over, in fact." 

Harry reached out a hesitant hand, then stopped, unsure if it was the right thing to do. "Can I—can I hold him?" His voice sounded small, almost childlike, but Andromeda didn't hesitate. She stepped closer and carefully passed Teddy into Harry's arms.

Teddy was surprisingly solid. He squirmed, his tiny face scrunching up before relaxing again, and Harry felt something unfamiliar twist in his chest—a fierce, protective instinct he hadn't expected. This was Remus's son. Tonks's son. Their legacy.

"Hi, Teddy," Harry said, his voice low. "I'm your godfather. Harry." He fixed his eyes on Teddy as the boy's hair darkened. 

"Oh," Ginny gasped. 

"That was Remus's favorite game," Andromeda said, shaking her head sadly. "Trying to see who and what got him to change his hair. I imagine if we brought him over to the rest of the Weasleys he'd fit right in before we knew it." She paused, a thoughtful look crossing her face, before casting Ginny a playful glance. "Though I suspect that sight might be a bit much for your parents at the moment."

Ginny's ears went red and Harry felt heat creeping up his own face as he blushed alongside her. Andromeda laughed, and in that moment, Harry realized just how little she resembled either of her sisters.

"Dora talked about you as well, my dear," she said gently to Ginny. 

"We talked a lot while she was patrolling Hogwarts," Ginny admitted.

"Really?" Harry asked. "What about?"

"Stubborn men," Ginny and Andromeda said together. And they both laughed again. 

Teddy began to fuss in Harry's arms.

"He's getting tired," Andromeda said gently. Harry nodded and carefully handed the baby back to her. "I should get him home for his nap," she added, her gaze softening as she looked down at Teddy. His hair shifted from black to a soft blue. She hesitated, her voice quieter when she spoke again. "We always had family dinners on Friday nights. Teddy and I… we'd love it if you both would join us next week."

"Wouldn't miss it, Mrs. Tonks," Ginny said.

"Andi," this time with a touch more insistence, though her tone remained kind. She gave them a sad smile. "I'll see you Friday, then, I suppose." She glanced toward the Weasley family gathered at the front of the church. "Please give my love and condolences to the rest of your family, Miss Weasley."

"Ginny," she corrected with a grin of her own. 

Andromeda's smile grew, and with a small nod, she turned to leave, cradling Teddy against her shoulder. Harry watched them go. For the first time, he truly understood what they had been fighting for—a future. A chance for children like Teddy to grow up surrounded by love, laughter, and hope.

His gaze shifted to the Weasleys, clustered together in shared grief at the front of the church.

They just had one last great heartbreak to endure. Then, perhaps, the healing could finally begin.

Once everyone had arrived back at the Burrow, Bill and Fleur bid the rest of them goodnight before returning to Shell Cottage. George gave them a grunted farewell before climbing back into his room. Mum put on some tea and set out a bit of food, but no one had much of an appetite…other than Ron. He scarfed down a full plate of food before the first cup of tea had been poured. Percy and Charlie stayed for a bit before deciding to turn in. Then it was just her, her parents, and the Trio.

No, Ginny reminded herself, remembering Ron's assurances from the day before. It was her parents and them now. 

"You doing alright, Harry?" she asked. Ron paused, his mouth half-filled with food, to spare a glance over at his best friend. Harry looked absolutely exhausted. And after the day he'd had she couldn't blame him. "You should get some sleep."

Harry nodded numbly. Ron stuffed the last few bites into his mouth, muttered something that might have been "C'mon, mate," to Harry, and helped usher Harry out of his seat. Harry paused by the base of the stairs, then turned around and found her again. He pulled her into a fierce hug that seemed to defy the exhaustion in his bones. She felt his fingers wind through her hair, as if he were doing everything in his power to assure himself that she was real.

"I—goodnight," he muttered against her hair. Then he released her and allowed Ron to lead him up the stairs. 

Ginny watched him go, her heart hammering in her chest. There was a long moment of silence between her, Hermione, and her parents. She felt exhausted, and she was dreading the day to come. But she had to find a way to hold it together for a while longer. There were some things only a mother and daughter could figure out together.

Dad seemed to sense this. With a weary sigh he pulled himself from the table, gave Mum a kiss and said, "I'll turn in. Leave you to it."

Ginny could sense Hermione's eyes on her, but couldn't yet meet them. She felt her neck flush and averted her gaze. Hermione seemed to get the message. 

"I'm exhausted," she said pointedly. "I think I'll head up as well. See you, Ginny. Thank you, Mrs. Weasley."

"Goodnight dear," Mum said gently. She was still staring down at her tea.

There was another long silence between them. Ginny sat at the kitchen table tracing idle patterns in the grain of the wood. The Burrow was quieting as everyone turned in and readied for bed. Ginny gave it a few more minutes—as long as she could stand—in the hopes that the rest of the house would be asleep.

Mum stood and began to bustle through the kitchen. She paused when she saw Ginny sitting there, her brow furrowing slightly.

"Can't sleep?" Mum asked, setting the towel down and filling the kettle.

Ginny shook her head. "No, just…thinking."

Mum hummed softly, her back to Ginny as she prepared another pot of tea. A moment later, she sat down beside her daughter, refilling her steaming mug in front of her. Mum watched her for a long moment before speaking. "What's on your mind, love?"

Ginny hesitated, the words caught in her throat. Finally she asked, "Mum, how did you know you loved Dad?"

Mum blinked, caught off guard. "Well, that's a question I wasn't expecting tonight," she said with a chuckle. "Though I suppose maybe I should have after watching the two of you this afternoon. Seeing him with little Teddy. It makes a mother glad to know we've had certain talks already." Ginny felt her face flush but Mum placed a comforting hand on hers. "This is a conversation I'm happy to have in light of everything we've all been through."

Mum stirred her tea thoughtfully. "It wasn't any one moment, really. It was a lot of little things. The way he looked at me, like I was the most fascinating person in the world, even when I don't think I was saying anything particularly clever. The way he made me laugh. How safe I felt when he was near."

Ginny nodded slowly, catching on the familiar thread of Mum's words. She thought back to the funeral for Remus and Tonks, the way Harry had reached for her hand without a word. How his grip had tightened when the names were read aloud. How he'd kept her close as if he couldn't face it alone. The way he'd looked at her afterward, his eyes full of something she couldn't name but felt all the same.

"Do you think…" Ginny's voice wavered slightly. "Do you think it's possible to love someone even if they haven't said it back? Even if they might not even realize it themselves?"

Mum tilted her head. Understanding flickered across her face. "Ah," she said gently, setting her spoon down. "I think the real question is whether you know how you feel."

Ginny bit her lip. "I think I do," she said quietly. "I think I love him."

"And you think he loves you too," Mum said, her tone leading but patient.

Ginny nodded, her grip tightening on the edge of her mug. "I think so. It's just…he's never said it. But sometimes, the way he looks at me or the things he does, it feels like he's trying to say it. Sometimes I think he almost does and then…stops."

Mum reached out and placed a warm hand over Ginny's. "Ginny, you've always known yourself and had a good sense for those around you. If you think he loves you, then I'd wager you're right. But Harry's been through so much. Sometimes people who've been hurt as much as he has struggle to say the things they feel, even when they feel them deeply." She gave Ginny a pointed look. "And as you yourself can attest, it is a rather scary prospect even if your entire life has been filled with love…as I hope you know we've tried to make it."

Ginny's chest ached as she thought of her parents, about how she'd always felt loved even when she was furious at them. Then about Harry's quiet grief, his scars, the way he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders without ever asking for help and always somehow seemed to think he would have to deal with his struggles alone. She nodded.

Mum smiled gently. "When I was your age, I used to wonder why your dad didn't share things about himself more often. But I soon realized—love isn't just about what people say. It's about what they do. And from what I've seen, Harry has done plenty to show you how much he cares."

Ginny felt a small, reluctant smile tug at her lips. "He does," she admitted. "He's always there when I need him. He just…knows."

Mum squeezed her hand. "Give him time, Ginny. He'll find the words. When he's ready. But until then, don't doubt what you already know in your heart."

Ginny nodded. She felt herself relaxing for the first time that evening. "Thanks, Mum," she murmured.

Mum leaned over and kissed the top of Ginny's head. "Anytime, love. Now finish your tea before it gets cold."

Ginny smiled softly and took a sip, the warmth of the drink and her mother's words settling deep into her chest.

Chapter Text

May 15, 1998

Ginny woke to sunlight streaming through her window. It was the kind of morning that might have felt hopeful, if not for the weight pressing on her chest. She stretched and glanced over at the empty space beside her in the bed. Harry wasn't there.

Hermione hadn't left to trade places with him in Ron's room during the midnight hours like they had done the past few nights when they thought no one would notice. Ginny was glad for that. She hadn't slept well, tossing and turning through restless dreams, and the last thing she would have wanted was for Harry to share in her unease.

She slid out of bed and pushed open her bedroom window. The scent of freshly cut grass and blooming wildflowers filled the air, carried on the cool spring breeze. It was such a peaceful contrast to how she felt at that moment, with that pit in her stomach and ache in her chest. 

The weather was better than the day before, and for that, Ginny supposed she was grateful. There was something fitting about sending Fred off into the sunset—no rain, no dreary clouds hanging overhead. This was Fred they were honoring, after all. He wouldn't have stood for it. He'd have come up with some wild plan to turn the rain into slime or enchant it to dye everyone's clothes, hair, and skin in blindingly obnoxious colors. Percy would have been livid, and Mum would've screamed loud enough to scare the ghoul in the attic.

Ginny swallowed hard. She would have given anything for it.

The quiet murmur of voices drifted up from the kitchen, and the faint clatter of pots and pans hinted at her mother's ceaseless efforts to keep everyone fed and busy and thinking about anything other than what today meant for them. Ginny sighed, pulled on a jumper over her pajamas, and headed up to the bathroom.

She almost bumped into Harry on the landing as he stepped out of the bathroom, pulling his shirt down over his head. For a brief moment, she caught a flash of the blotchy purple bruise on his chest. It was healing slowly, but it looked better than it had when she'd first seen it two days before—barely. There was something about that bruise—and the other scars that covered her boyfriend's chest and arms—that set her heart racing and aching at the same time. Something wild and warrior-like about them, but something that made him seem so vulnerable all the same.

"Hey. Morning," he said, giving her a quick kiss. His voice was tentative. Careful. But she leaned into him and wrapped her arms around his waist, drawing comfort from him. He smelled clean and earthy, like the fresh air after rain. She could smell the subtle hint of soap from his shower, a bit of mint from brushing his teeth, and something distinctly him—a warm, comforting scent that reminded her of early mornings spent outside playing Quidditch. It was grounding, familiar, and made her feel safe.

"Good morning," she gave him another quick peck on the cheek and sent him on his way downstairs. After a quick shower and brushing her teeth, she changed into fresh clothes and made her way downstairs.

The kitchen was bustling as usual. Mum was already at the stove, her wand waving gracefully through the air as something flipped over on the griddle. Harry was at the counter slicing bread with a knife by hand, while Hermione used magic to pull plates and saucers down from the cabinets to the table. Ron sat absently poking at his eggs. 

The sun poured in through the windows, lighting up the room, but the brightness didn't quite reach anyone's eyes.

"Morning," Ginny said, slipping into a seat next to Ron.

Mum turned to her with a quick, practiced smile. "Morning, dear. Sleep all right?"

Ginny shrugged. She hadn't, but that hardly seemed worth mentioning. Instead, she poured herself a cup of tea and stared out the window. Beyond the Burrow's familiar garden, Dad and Percy were setting up the chairs in the orchard where Fred would be…  

"Would you bring a plate up to George, dear?" Mum asked. There was a tightness in her voice. "I don't know if he's feeling…"

Ginny nodded and took the plate without asking for Mum to find the words. She knocked once and then cracked the door open. Even in the hardest of times privacy was… rare at the Burrow and George would know that.

She found him sitting on his bed, still in his pajamas, staring down at his dress robes. They were newer—something he and Fred had bought together—and one of the few belongings he'd managed to save when they fled to Aunt Muriel's. The robes looked expensive. She doubted he'd worn them more than once or twice. His thumb traced slowly over the material, his movements almost absent. His expression was fragile, his eyes fixed on the robes as though he could see straight through them. When he finally turned to her, his face held a lost, hollow look that twisted her heart.

"Doesn't seem much like Fred," George murmured, his eyes drifting back to the robes.

"We could trade," Ginny offered, her tone light. If there was one thing that could snap George out of his thoughts, it was someone else attempting humor. "You can have mine, and I'll get Mum to tailor your fancy ones to fit me."

George let out a weak chuckle, his lips twitching into the ghost of a smile. "You've got a posh boyfriend now—what do you need my money for?" he teased, his voice strained.

It was something.

"Famous big-spender, Harry Potter," Ginny rolled her eyes. 

"I always wondered why not," George said, looking down at the robes. "Gave us a thousand galleons. First thing he did was tell us to buy Ron some nicer dress robes." His gaze drifted upward. "Harry didn't have clothes that fit him until Sirius went and bought him some. Bloke's minted. But you'd never know it."

"I don't think he always remembers it," Ginny said, allowing the conversation to wander. "He's never had a real sense of worth. He doesn't talk about them much, but I don't think his aunt and uncle treated him great."

"Yeah the bars on the windows might'a hinted at that," George mused ruefully.  

Ginny chewed her lip. She'd heard the story, of course, but always wondered how much of it was Ron and the Twins embellishing. He hadn't said a word about his family since the war ended. 

"Y'know I always wondered how he did it," George said thoughtfully. Ginny gave him a questioning look. "Sirius, I mean. How'd he get Harry those clothes? He couldn't just walk around London, yeah? And it was mostly muggle stuff so it's not like Mum or Dad would've gotten them."

"Never asked," Ginny admitted. She hadn't even wondered really.

"Clever blokes, those Marauders," George muttered. A heavy silence fell between them as the distraction wore itself out. 

"Hungry?" she asked, offering up the plate of food.

"Starved," George admitted. His face fell. "But don't think I can eat anything right now."

Ginny nodded. "Even Ron's just poking at his food."

George sighed. "Fred wouldn't let us get away with being such mopey gits," he said. He gripped the dark robes tightly in his fists. "I keep trying , Ginny, but I just…I don't feel real anymore."

"I think that's okay," Ginny said. At George's shocked look she continued, "Maybe it'd be weird if you did . I think—It's okay for things to feel wrong for a while."

"How long though?" George asked breathlessly. She could see the tears holding in his eyes. "How long until it just…doesn't hurt like this?"

Ginny shrugged and shook her head. "I keep wondering that, too," she admitted. "I thought about asking Mum. About how she managed after Uncle Gideon and Fabian died. But I just…it seems like a lot to bring up right now."

"Merlin, I'm making this all about me, aren't I," George groaned. "It's all I think about. Me, me, me. Fred was your brother, too. He was Mum and Dad's son ." He balled up the robes angrily. 

"We're all hurting, George," Ginny said. "It's not about which of us hurts more or feels worse. I don't think you should feel guilty about that. We can just all…hurt together."

"When did you get so smart and grownup?" George asked wryly. 

"I've always been smarter than you," Ginny said with a smirk. 

"How are you all so much stronger than I am?" George sobbed. "He wouldn't want me like this . He'd never let me live it down. And all of you are…holding it all together so much better than I am."

"I don't think we are. We're just…not doing it alone," Ginny said. Her gaze softened and she placed the plate of breakfast on his bed and sat down beside George. "I've got Harry. Ron has Hermione. Bill has Fleur. Mum and Dad. I know it helps having someone else."

"Bully for you lot," George mumbled.

"Charlie's always been…well… Charlie ," Ginny said, and George nodded with a knowing roll of his eyes. "And Percy's…I think he's taking it harder than he's let on. He hasn't stopped trying to fix things around here since we left Hogwarts."

"Trying to make up for being such a prat," George said, chewing on his bottom lip.

"I think he blames himself," Ginny said. George's head snapped up. "He hasn't said it, but…I know what it's like to feel that way. After the diary and the Chamber I—and he's got that same look that Harry had after Sirius was killed."

George looked torn for a moment, before he let out a heavy sigh. "I—I wanted to blame him," he admitted. "Because he was gone and he was there with Fred and I just want to…be mad about it instead of…this." He gestured to himself.

"I think we have to just keep trying," Ginny said dejectedly. "And maybe…try not to be so alone about it. Be there with each other…for each other. Whatever. It helps."

"Why do you think Fred wasn't there ?" George blurted out suddenly. At Ginny's confused look he continued, "In the forest, with Harry." George looked desperate and lost. "It was just Sirius, Remus, and his mum and dad. Why didn't Fred go? Or Tonks. Or—or Collin. Collin would've given both bollocks, dead or not, to have a deep profound moment with Harry, right? Why wasn't Fred there ?"

Ginny didn't know how to answer that.

" I would have been," George said, with all the force he could muster, and there were tears in his eyes. "We love that scrawny git, right?" Ginny's heart caught in her throat. "Why wasn't he there ? He should have been."

"I really don't know, George," Ginny said, shaking her head. "You can ask him, but I don't know if Harry knows either, if we're being honest." She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "I think you're focusing on the wrong thing."

"I need to know, Ginny," George insisted. "Because if Fred wasn't there that means I wouldn't have been. And it means everything I think I know about us both is wrong . And I can't—"

"Georgie. Breathe," Ginny said, she squeezed him tighter. "You should ask Harry about that. Maybe he has an idea. But…" She rubbed circles on his back. "I think you should also talk…in general. With me, or Ron, or Mum and Dad. Bill's really good at it. Maybe even Percy."

"Not Charlie?" he reached desperately for a joke. 

"Eh," Ginny shrugged dramatically. "You can learn about how dragons grieve I guess." George snorted and wiped away tears. "Just…forcing yourself to be alone I think is only going to make it harder." She gestured to the plate of breakfast. "I'll leave this here, but…if you're up to it, I think we'd all really like for you to come downstairs with us and…I dunno…be sad together."

George had come down not long after, and he'd immediately busied himself with helping around the house. There was something almost manic about it. And Ginny would have been worried if not for the glint in his eyes that somehow assured her things would be alright. It wasn't quite the same, but he looked much closer to the George from before than he had in weeks.

George's energy made the rest of the morning and afternoon go by quicker. Ginny spent most of the time with Mum rearranging chairs or casting decorative charms around the gravesite. It was never quite good enough, and for once Ginny was happy to agree with Mum. It needed to be perfect . Fred deserved perfect. 

But why was it so hard to get it right?

An owl came by with a letter for Harry just before lunch. It was a huge, great horned owl with wide wings and fiercely judgmental eyes. It was a bit off putting but Harry seemed relieved to see it. He took the letter quickly and read through it. 

"Do you mind giving the owl some of Pig's treats?" he asked Ron. "I'm going to write a quick note back."

"Whose owl is that?" Ron asked, but Harry brushed him off evasively and dashed up the stairs with the letter in hand. Ron turned to her. "Bloody hell was that about?"

Ginny shrugged trying to play it off, but she was concerned. Harry was rarely this evasive; especially after their late night and early morning talks. But before she could express as much Harry came bounding back down the stairs, reply in hand and had sent the owl on its way.

"Just something I had to straighten out," Harry waved off their questioning glances. "We can talk about it later."

"Harry?" she called after him.

He threw her a grin over his shoulder. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

By three in the afternoon they were as ready as they were going to be. Despite all their charming and re-charming it still didn't feel enough for Fred's send-off, but it would have to do. Ginny changed into her black dress robes and joined her family out by the orchard as mourners began to arrive outside the wards. 

Lee Jordan, Angelina Johnson, and Alicia Spinnet arrived first, together, and were followed shortly by Oliver Wood and Katie Bell. As soon as the wards let them through, they found George, who immediately broke down into tears. Ginny stepped back, giving them space. These were Fred's closest friends, and her heart twisted at the sight of them supporting George.

She lost count of the people who arrived after that. Neville, Seamus, and Dean came in together, followed by the Patil twins, Jimmy Peakes, Ritchie Coote, Demelza Robins, and finally Luna. A sea of graduated Gryffindors and former Hogwarts students from Fred and George's year filed in, along with a select group from the Ministry—Kingsley and Dad's colleague Perkins leading the way.

Then came the Hogwarts staff, with Professor McGonagall at the head. Hagrid, Professor Flitwick, Professor Sprout, Madam Pomfrey, and even Professor Slughorn, who Fred had never been taught by, all made their way to the Burrow.

But the most unexpected arrival was Argus Filch. The Hogwarts caretaker made his way through the field, hunched over and eyeing the crowd nervously, clearly uncomfortable being surrounded by so many Weasleys.

His arrival stopped George in his tracks. He stared at the old man in shock, eyes wide with disbelief.

For a long moment, there was silence between them, with the former Gryffindor Quidditch team watching closely. Finally, Filch offered a tight, watery-eyed smile. He sniffed loudly and patted George on the arm. Then, helplessly, he looked around and shook his head. Ginny was struck by how human he seemed in that moment—not the boogeyman of Hogwarts, but just an old man who had seen too many children die.

"Causing trouble for someone else, I suspect," Filch said, his eyes red and wet. He sniffed loudly. George, bewildered, could only stare and nod in shock. "Good. Good. And you?"

"I... don't know if I have the heart for much trouble right now," George admitted quietly.

"You'll get there. In time," Filch replied with a tight nod. Somehow, George's eyes seemed to widen even further. "Your products are still banned," Filch added quickly, his bottom lip trembling.

"Never stopped us before," George said, the faintest trace of a smile pulling at his lips.

Filch nodded, despite himself, and gave George one last pat on the arm before shuffling off to find a seat with the rest of the Hogwarts staff.

George stood there, still looking dazed, before glancing up at the sky. "I hope you were watching that, Freddie."

Ginny took her seat between Mum and Harry and it was then that the reality of the moment struck her. She felt cold, despite the sun in the sky overhead. The one solace was the presence of her family around her.

Professor McGonagall stood at the front of the gathered mourners, her eyes briefly scanning the Weasley family before settling on Fred's casket. She drew in a deep breath, steadying herself as she prepared to speak.

"Minister Shacklebolt offered to speak today on behalf of the Weasley family and in honor of Fred. But I asked to take his place," she said, her voice calm but firm. She stood tall, gazing out at the assembled crowd. "You see, I do not have children of my own. I have always considered the students under my care to be my children, of a sort…especially those who cause me the most aggravation."

Beside Ginny, Mum stifled a teary chuckle. 

"I knew Fred Weasley since his first—" McGonagall's voice hitched, and she quickly cleared her throat, swallowing hard before continuing. "His first night at Hogwarts. None of us —Professor Dumbledore included—knew what we were getting into. None of his older brothers prepared us for it, or even warned us." She gave a teary, pointed look at Bill, Charlie, and Percy. "Nor have they apologized for that oversight."

A soft chuckle rippled through the crowd, mostly from the Hogwarts staff, and Ginny felt her chest tighten. Fred's grin seemed to flicker before her eyes.

"Fred Weasley was, without a doubt, one of the most remarkable students I had the pleasure of teaching during my time at Hogwarts. Incredibly bright. Impossibly mischievous. He brought laughter to a school that, at times, seemed to take itself too seriously."

Ginny's eyes darted to George. She couldn't help but notice the way he stared at Fred's casket, his pain etched into every line of his face. Professor McGonagall's voice faltered slightly, but she pushed on, her gaze softening as she continued.

"Fred was not just a prankster or a schemer, though he certainly excelled at both. He was also loyal, brave, and full of love. A friend to all, who never hesitated to stand up for what was right, no matter the cost." McGonagall smiled faintly, her eyes flickering briefly toward George again. "As those of you who were there for his and George's final year of school can attest."

She thought of the explosions they'd left in their wake and the literal swamp they'd left behind. A wave of laughter, a little louder this time, rippled through the crowd, and Ginny's throat tightened. There was something comforting it.

"He was courageous and loyal, and he stood by those he loved with a fierceness that made all of us who knew him proud . He was—is—a Weasley ." McGonagall's gaze shifted to Ginny and the rest of the family, and her composure finally cracked. A tear slid down her cheek, and she wiped it away with a trembling hand. "And though today we mourn his passing, we must also remember that this is not the end of Fred Weasley's story, but the beginning of how we will carry him in our hearts."

Ginny swallowed hard, her chest tight. She tried to focus on McGonagall's next words, but a lump in her throat made it hard to breathe. Her eyes were blurry, and her thoughts scattered.

Professor McGonagall gave a subtle nod, and with a flick of her wand, the somber lectern at the front of the gathering shifted and stretched until it became an enormous purple toadstool covered in glowing polka dots. Its edges undulated as if swaying to some unheard tune, drawing startled gasps and murmurs from the crowd.

At the same moment, Professor Flitwick raised his wand. The mourners' black robes shimmered and transformed, bursting into garish patterns and wild, clashing colors. Stripes, spots, and even dancing butterflies flitted across the fabric, while a few robes sprouted feathered collars that fluttered with every movement.

For a moment, there was only stunned silence. Then, from somewhere in the crowd came the first chortle of laughter—from Filch , of all people. It was shaky and wet, but it broke the dam. It spread like wildfire, rippling through the mourners until the air was filled with laughter.

Her parents and George clung to each other as if holding on was the only thing keeping them afloat. Slowly, one by one, her brothers stepped forward, wrapping their arms around the three of them until they all stood together in a tight, unbreakable circle. Ginny joined them, her hand reaching for Harry, pulling him into the embrace just as Ron tugged Hermione closer.

" That was Fred," Ginny whispered, her voice breaking as she leaned toward George.

George's breath hitched, and he tightened his arms around her. "Thank you," he sobbed.

Most of the mourners had already trickled away, pausing briefly to offer Mum and Dad their condolences—some murmured quietly, while others, like Hagrid, spoke in booming voices that didn't quite fit the solemn mood. Ginny stood off to the side, watching the last few depart. Kingsley had pulled Harry aside for a moment for a private conversation, giving him a gentle pat on the shoulder and a hearty handshake, before departing.

The strain of the day pressed down on her, leaving her utterly spent. She eyed the small group still lingering: the old Quidditch team, Lee, Luna, and Professor McGonagall. Though she wasn't upset to see them remain, their presence felt like one more thing demanding her energy. All she wanted was a quiet moment to lie down. Even the idea of food, usually a welcome distraction, barely appealed to her—a rare occurrence for a Weasley.

"So," Oliver said, breaking the silence as he turned toward Harry. "We going to do this then?"

Ginny blinked, her exhaustion giving way to curiosity. She glanced at Harry, trying to gauge what Oliver meant.

"Yeah. I think…" Harry trailed off, his eyes flicking to Professor McGonagall. The professor gave him one of her trademark nods—stiff, precise, and entirely unreadable. He straightened slightly. "Yeah. Let's go."

"What're you on about, mate?" Ron piped up, shifting slightly where he sat. He leaned heavily against Hermione, who rubbed soothing circles on his back. His voice sounded thick, and his red-rimmed eyes mirrored the weariness Ginny felt. He sniffed once, rubbing his nose with his sleeve.

Harry hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with the sudden shift in attention. He reached up to rub the back of his neck, a nervous habit Ginny knew well. She tilted her head, watching him, and when his eyes met hers, she caught a flicker of something—an idea, maybe, or just the determination to push through whatever he was about to say. He gave her a faint, sheepish grin, and Ginny felt her curiosity grow.

"Well… I thought…" Harry faltered, glancing briefly at the others before his gaze came back to her. It steadied him somehow; she could see the moment he decided to just say it. "After Sirius died, I was—I was furious. With Dumbledore, with myself, with Voldemort, Bellatrix…everyone, really. And I destroyed half the things in Dumbledore's office."

Ginny remembered the story, but from the quiet murmurs around her, it was clear most of the others hadn't heard it.

"There was this moment," Harry continued, his voice soft but certain, "where smashing things made me feel a little better. Not a lot, but enough." He paused, glancing around at the group. "So, I thought maybe we could do something like that here. But then I realized…" His gaze flicked toward Mum, and a faint smirk tugged at his lips. "Mrs. Weasley would start digging another grave for anyone who just started breaking things around her house."

Dad chuckled knowingly, his eyes crinkling despite the heaviness of the day. Ginny's lips twitched upward, and she wasn't sure if it was at Harry's words or at Dad's reaction. Either way, it felt like the first real smile she'd had in hours.

Ginny watched Harry closely as he shifted on his feet, clearly trying to find the right words. She could tell he was nervous, but there was something warm about the way he was looking at everyone gathered—like he had a plan, and he wanted them all to trust him. She folded her arms, arching an eyebrow as if to silently say, Well, go on then.

"So I figured out a different idea," Harry said at last. "Something a bit more Fred than just smashing up someone's stuff."

"Yeah, not quite subtle enough," George said, his voice rough but managing a ghost of his usual humor.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley," Professor McGonagall interjected, her voice dry. But her lips twitched upward. "Because a permanent swamp and a storm of fireworks screams subtlety ."

George shrugged with a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Umbridge was our exception."

Ginny felt a pang in her chest at the exchange, watching George try to summon his old self. But before she could dwell on it, Harry continued, turning to Oliver.

"Well, Fred loved Quidditch and making things explode, so…I thought we could do a little of both." He glanced at Ginny and gave her a small, knowing smile. "We're going to play Quidditch…of sorts."

"Harry," Ginny said, glancing around. "We don't have any brooms."

"Courtesy of Puddlemere United," Oliver announced, grinning as he shrugged a satchel off his shoulder. He began pulling broom after broom from within, the bag clearly under an Extension Charm. Ginny recognized the sleek handles as top-of-the-line Cleansweep models—far better than anything the family had owned before. "Took a bit of convincing, but once I showed management the letter from my good friend and best Seeker to ever fly for Gryffindor Harry Potter—"

"Hey, c'mon Ollie!" Charlie objected playfully and with mock hurt.

"Merlin's beard," Ron breathed, admiring the growing arrangement of brooms.

Soon, each of her family members, the old Gryffindor Quidditch team, Lee, Luna, and even Professor McGonagall stood holding a broom. Ginny glanced at the headmistress, whose expression was as stern as ever but softened by something…fond.

"So… we're playing Quidditch?" Ron asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"Not exactly," Oliver replied. With a flourish, he reached into the bag again and pulled out a single Bludger.

Ginny frowned, her Quidditch instincts kicking in. "One Bludger? For all of us?"

Oliver smirked. "Harry asked me to help devise the most ' Fred Weasley ' game of Quidditch ever. So here it is. We'll play with just this Bludger. And—"

"How do you score?" Ginny interrupted, her instincts overriding her skepticism.

"Such a Chaser," Oliver muttered with mock exasperation. "There's no scoring, Ginny. The goal isn't points. The goal is just to…" He paused and looked toward Harry.

"See what happens," Harry finished, grinning. "Yeah?"

Ginny tilted her head, studying him. His grin was infectious, and despite her exhaustion, she felt a flicker of curiosity—and maybe even excitement.

"Professor McGonagall has charmed the Bludger," Oliver continued. "We're going to hit it around to one another. And after each hit—"

"You'll have to hit it to find out," McGonagall finished, her tone dry but tinged with amusement.

Ginny couldn't help but smile as everyone mounted their brooms and kicked off the ground, heading toward the Weasley family Quidditch pitch.

The pitch felt different without Fred, but as Ginny hovered midair, bat in hand, she found herself gripping the handle tightly in anticipation. The Bludger shot into the air, and Oliver reached it first, his practiced swing sending it careening toward George.

George connected with a resounding crack. As the Bludger shot upward, it exploded in a cascade of glittering orange and gold sparks, lighting up the sky. Ginny's breath caught as she watched the sparks fall like a firework.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Ron grin for the first time that day. He surged forward to catch the Bludger's trajectory and hit it toward Luna, who swung her bat with an uncharacteristically fierce determination. Another explosion burst in the sky, this one a brilliant, shimmering purple.

The game continued, the Bludger flying between them as it burst into a new display of color with each hit. Ginny felt her heart lift with every explosion, each one seeming to carry a little of their grief into the sky.

As the Bludger shot toward her, Ginny gripped her bat and swung hard. The impact reverberated through her arms as the Bludger soared upward, detonating in a fiery red burst that lingered like a sunset. She laughed—really laughed—for the first time all day.

Ginny glanced skyward and her smile widened. For the first time in weeks, she felt like it was over .

Harry lay on his camp bed in Ron's room, staring up at the slanted ceiling. The house was mostly quiet now, save for the occasional clanging of the family ghoul in the attic and Ron's snores from the bed nearby. Harry shifted onto his side; sleep eluded him.

The day had been a blur of grief and fleeting laughter. The game had been a bright spot, something to hold onto amid the weight of the funeral, but now the silence and the after pressed down on him like a physical thing. He closed his eyes, trying to will himself to sleep, but his thoughts wouldn't stop racing.

Images from the day flashed through his mind—George's fragile smile, McGonagall's voice breaking as she spoke, Ginny's face streaked with tears. He didn't know how they were all still standing. 

He turned onto his other side, punching his pillow for the third time, and sighed. Ron muttered something unintelligible in his sleep and rolled over facing the wall away from Harry.

Harry sat up, rubbing his face. His thoughts drifted to Ginny, and the familiar pull toward her steadied him. He tried to remember whether it was his turn or Hermione's to notify the other that it was time to switch rooms and settled on the idea that it was his—Hermione would not have waited quite so long. 

He thought, momentarily, that he might just ignore the routine and try to get back to sleep. Wondering if it would be less disruptive, but also considered that Ginny might sleep easier beside him. That knowledge made his chest expand. 

And he supposed Ron would find more comfort with Hermione in his arms.

Harry swung his legs off the bed, careful not to wake Ron and climbed out of the attic bedroom. The stairs creaked under his weight as he made his way down toward Ginny's room.

As he neared the first floor, faint voices reached his ears. He froze mid-step, straining to hear. The sound was coming from the kitchen. It was Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. For a moment, he considered heading back upstairs, but curiosity won out. Quietly, he descended the rest of the stairs. 

"…just wish I could do more for Georgie," Mrs. Weasley was saying. "For all of them."

"You've done more than enough, Molly," Mr. Weasley replied gently. "You need to take care of yourself, too."

Harry's foot creaked loudly on a floorboard. Mrs. Weasley's head jerked and she quickly wiped her eyes.

"Oh. Harry," she said softly.

"Sorry," Harry mumbled, stepping into the kitchen. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop. Just…couldn't sleep. Wanted to get a drink of water."

Mrs. Weasley nodded. She wiped her eyes quickly. Mr. Weasley offered Harry a tired but warm smile.

"Help yourself," Mr. Weasley said, gesturing toward the sink.

Harry filled a glass and hesitated by the counter, unsure if he should go back upstairs, But something in Mr. Weasley's gaze kept him rooted to the spot. He turned to leave but Mr. Weasley stopped him.

"That was a beautiful thing you did today," Mr. Weasley said, his tone soft but certain.

Harry paused, then stepped back toward the table, holding the glass in both hands. "It wasn't just me," he admitted. "Hermione helped organize it. And Oliver and Professor McGonagall did most of the work."

Mr. Weasley chuckled. "If you're not going back to Hogwarts, I think she'll insist you start calling her Minerva soon enough."

Harry frowned slightly, testing the name in his head. It felt strange.

"I thought the same thing at your age," Mr. Weasley said with a small smile.

Harry nodded and looked down at his water, unsure how to respond.

"You know," Mr. Weasley said gently, "I think we all sometimes forget that you and Hermione weren't always with us."

Harry felt a sharp stab of guilt. "I'm sorry for the trouble that's caused you," he said quietly.

"Trouble?" Mrs. Weasley gasped, standing suddenly and pulling him toward the table. "Oh, Harry. You've done more for this family than anyone could have ever asked of you."

Harry hesitated, his heart tightening in his chest. He hadn't expected such a quick response, and it made him feel even more determined to say what he'd been holding back for so long. He sat down.

"You've done more for me than… well, than anyone ever has," Harry said softly, staring down at the table. The words came hesitantly. "The first Christmas present I ever remember getting was the jumper you sent during my first year." He looked up at Mrs. Weasley. Her hand had flown to her mouth. "I never—I'm sorry I never told you how much that meant to me. How much it still means to me."

Mrs. Weasley's eyes brimmed with tears. Her hand trembled as she reached across the table to grasp his.

"Oh, Harry," she whispered, her voice on the verge of breaking.

"I didn't mean to upset you," Harry added quickly.

"Upset me?" she said, wiping her eyes. She smiled through her tears. "You don't ever have to apologize to a mother for making her feel like she did something right."

Harry's breath hitched at her words. For a moment, he thought he could leave it there, but something deep inside him—the part that had spent years carrying the weight of unspoken gratitude—pushed him to say more.

"You were the first adults to—to want me," he said, his voice trembling. His throat tightened, but he forced himself to continue. "Who made sure I was fed , who made me feel safe and—and cared for. And frustrated ," he added with a small, wobbly smile. He looked down, the words spilling out in a rush. "Everything I ever imagined about how my parents would have treated me…I learned from you ."

Before he could say anything else, Mrs. Weasley was on her feet, pulling him into one of her hugs. Harry let himself be held, let himself imagine he was a child again, hoping against all reason that someone would just hug him once . He wished he had the chance to tell the younger him that one day someone would . 

When she finally pulled back, her hands cupped his face. She looked up at him with tears streaming down her cheeks. "Oh, my dear boy," she whispered.

"I'm sorry," Harry said again, sniffing. "I—I know today was hard, and I didn't mean to upset you. I just couldn't stop thinking, all day, about how thankful I am to be here."

Mr. Weasley stood and placed a firm hand on Harry's shoulder.

"There is nowhere in the world you belong more, Harry," he said. His voice was steady, but his eyes shone.

Harry's gaze flickered between them. "I keep thinking back to that day at King's Cross," he said, his voice thick. "Trying to find the platform. I could've found anyone…but I'm really glad it was you ."

Mrs. Weasley broke into fresh tears, but this time her smile lit up her entire face. Mr. Weasley's hand gave Harry's shoulder a comforting squeeze.

"You'll always have a home here. Always," Mr. Weasley said, his voice quiet but resolute. "You have been our son since the day you walked through to the platform with Molly. It just…took us all a little while longer to realize it."

Harry nodded, his throat too tight for words, and let himself believe it. For the first time in a long while; since he'd lost Sirius, he felt like he had somewhere he belonged. The words that had gotten caught in his throat the night he'd first snuck down into Ginny's room came tumbling back to him. And he wondered why he'd felt so nervous telling her when the Weasleys had always treated him like he'd belonged there.

"Now, why don't you head back up to bed. It's been a long day," Mr. Weasley said. There was a twinkle in his eye. "See if Ron needs a glass of water as well.

"Oh—Ron, errr…right," Harry stammered.

"You did your best, young man, but you were found out," Mr. Weasley scolded him good-naturedly with a grin. "I'm sure the girls will understand." Harry felt his face go red and Mr. Weasley laughed. "You may have spent the last seven years sneaking around Hogwarts but you'll find that Molly and I are a bit harder to fool."

"I—I didn't—"

"Off you go, son," Mr. Weasley said, nodding towards the stairs. Harry's heart clenched fondly and he nodded tightly. 

He made his way up the stairs, not bothering to quiet his footsteps this time. He stopped briefly on the landing outside Ginny's room, but the silence from downstairs let him know that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were still listening for him. He made his way up to Ron's room—his room? Their room?—and the thought sent a warm feeling flooding through him.

He pushed open the door to find the lamp set low and warm orange light flooding the room. "Hey," Ron said thickly, sliding the covers of his bed back as if to invite him in. He had his shirt off. "I kept your spot warm."

"Hi, Ron," Harry deadpanned. 

Ron pulled the blankets back and clutched them to his chest. Even in the low light Harry could see the telltale Weasley flush of his face. "Harry! What are—err—where's—"

"Your mum and dad heard me," he said with a shrug. 

Ron's face fell. "Were they mad?" He pulled his shirt back on and eyed the door warily.

Harry shook his head, struggling to wipe the grin from his face. He didn't want to get into everything he'd told Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. "No. Just said I should bring you a glass of water, too." Ron raised an eyebrow at him. "I told them I was down that way for a drink—was the best excuse I could think of."

"Brilliant! I could use a drink." Ron reached out a hand expectantly. 

"Oh," Harry stared dumbly at the water in his hand. "No. This one's mine. I…forgot yours."

"Not suspicious at all," Ron grumbled. He flopped back into his bed with a groan. "I can't believe you got caught."

"Me neither," Harry said, still grinning despite himself.

"Why do you look so happy about it?" Ron asked.

"Because your parents are brilliant," Harry said.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Great. Then tomorrow when the girls ask what happened, you can be the one to tell them it's because of my brilliant parents ."

Chapter Text

May 17, 1998

It had been two weeks since they'd left Hogwarts. Two weeks of hard days dealing with the fallout; the stress and the heartbreak of funeral after funeral, of trying and failing and trying again to fall into a rhythm and a routine that didn't hinge entirely upon looking over their shoulder every moment.

But they were managing; mornings were for sneaking him and Hermione back to their "parentally-designated" rooms then heading down to either help Mrs. Weasley with breakfast or Quidditch training. Ginny had thrown herself wholeheartedly into her training in a way Harry hadn't seen before. She was regularly up at the very crack of dawn—part of the reason why he and Hermione had yet to be caught in the wrong room—and leading the training entirely; running laps around the Burrow's grounds, strength training, conditioning, and then walking through Quidditch strategies.

They were all still woefully broomless, much to Ron's ever-present chagrin.

Ginny had been noncommittal regarding what she wanted to do after Hogwarts, but Harry was beginning to form a picture. He was reminded more and more of the way Oliver Wood had approached his final year at Hogwarts. But it seemed that Harry was the only one putting that together. 

"Watch your back, mate," Ron teased between mouthfuls of eggs and sausage at breakfast that morning. He nudged Harry's ribs. "I think she wants to be Captain this year."

Ginny gave Harry a knowing look over her glass of orange juice. They hadn't actually spent a lot of time talking about the coming term and their specific plans, but they'd both thrown themselves into preparing for a potential return to Quidditch. Ever since the makeshift "game" that he had worked out with Oliver he'd been feeling a persistent urge to get back on a broom.

"Does that mean you're planning to return to Hogwarts?" Hermione asked over the top of the morning's Prophet. The article on the front page read, in large print, Kingsley Shacklebolt Elected Minister for Magic. 

"Haven't decided quite yet," Harry admitted. "Can I…?" He gestured to the paper. She folded it up and handed it over the table to him. 

"I think you should," Hermione said, spreading some butter and jam on toast and taking a neat bite. It was a stark contrast to Ron's wolfishness. "Honestly, Ron, we've been back for two weeks. You're not going to starve or have to run off anywhere."

"Wha'? 'm hun'ry," Ron mumbled, his words barely discernible through a mouthful of food. 

Hermione just rolled her eyes, but Harry caught the subtle curve of an amused smirk on her lips that wouldn't have been there before. "Anyway, you both should," she said, looking pointedly at Harry and Ron. "I know you've talked about joining the Aurors, but the Aurors will be there next year, too. And having your N.E.W.T.s will open up more opportunities for you as you progress through your careers."

"Not all of us are looking to be Minister for Magic in ten years," Ron pointed out.

They started their bickering again—Harry swore it was some sort of weird flirting designed to make everyone else uncomfortable—but he was only half paying attention as he read through the front page of the Prophet .

Kingsley Shacklebolt Elected Minister for Magic: A New Vision for the Ministry
By Belvina Broadsheet, Political Correspondent

Kingsley Shacklebolt, admired for his leadership during the war against Lord Voldemort, has been officially elected as Minister for Magic following an overwhelming vote of confidence from the Wizarding public. The announcement, made earlier today, signals the start of what many hope will be a transformative era for the British Ministry of Magic.

Shacklebolt, who has served as Interim Minister since Voldemort's defeat, is widely credited with restoring stability and trust during this time of profound uncertainty. His calm demeanor, decisive actions, and tireless efforts to unite the wizarding community in the wake of Voldemort's defeat have earned him widespread respect.

"This election is not about me," Shacklebolt said in his inaugural address. "It is about us as a society choosing to move forward together. It is about ensuring that no future Dark Lord can ever rise again through division, fear, or corruption."

Shacklebolt has already announced plans for sweeping reforms within the Ministry, aimed at rooting out the remnants of Voldemort's influence and safeguarding against future abuses of power. Among his proposed initiatives are:

Transparency in Government: Establishing independent oversight committees to ensure accountability across all departments.

Equality and Inclusion: Expanding protections for Muggle-borns, magical creatures, and non-human beings, ensuring they have equal rights and opportunities under wizarding law.

Educational Outreach: Strengthening partnerships with Hogwarts and other magical institutions to foster a new generation of witches and wizards dedicated to justice and unity.

Enhanced Auror Training: Rebuilding the Auror Department with a focus on ethics and vigilance to prevent infiltration by dark forces.

"The Ministry has long been a beacon of our magical society, but we must acknowledge its failings and work to rebuild it as a force for good," Shacklebolt continued. "This is not just about policies and procedures—it is about culture. We must become a Ministry that values every voice, defends every individual, and places the welfare of all above the ambitions of the few."

Gawain Robards, Head of the Auror Office, expressed his support for Shacklebolt's vision. "Minister Shacklebolt understands the challenges we face and the necessity of ensuring they never happen again. His leadership is precisely what wizarding Britain needs right now."

The response from the wizarding community has been overwhelmingly positive. Wizarding families, many of whom suffered under Voldemort's regime, have expressed hope that Shacklebolt's leadership will usher in an era of fairness and prosperity.

As the new Minister begins his term, the eyes of the wizarding world are fixed on the Ministry. The road ahead may be challenging, but with Shacklebolt at the helm, the future seems brighter than ever.

(For more information on Minister Shacklebot's proposed reforms, see page 8)

"What do you think, Harry?" Hermione asked. 

"What's that?" Harry dropped the paper and glanced back up. "I think you both make great points." Ron snorted and Hermione gave him an annoyed look. He folded the paper and put it away. "Sorry. What's up?"

"Going back to Hogwarts," Hermione began, a bit more forcefully this time. "We'd all get to take our final year and sit our N.E.W.T.s together." She said this like it was the most convincing argument of all time, then looked pointedly from Harry to Ginny and back again. 

"I hear you, I do," Harry assured her. "But it's only been two weeks, Hermione. We'd still be at Hogwarts in any other year. We've got months to decide."

"Yes, but you'll need to let Professor McGonagall know," Hermione said. "She has so much on her plate already with the rebuilding, finding new professors, choosing the new head girl and boy—"

"Picking Quidditch Captains," Ginny cut in.

"I told you," Ron said, looking pointedly at Harry. 

Harry just grinned and shrugged. Ginny would be a much better Quidditch Captain than him whether he returned to Hogwarts or not. She was one of the fiercest players he'd ever seen; by her fourth year she had already challenged the established Chaser trio of Angelina, Alicia, and Katie while filling his Seeker position. She was a natural leader—she'd held together the student body under the Death Eater regime and led the revived Dumbledore's Army. She was quick to encourage the newer players, but never hesitated to call out anyone who wasn't pulling their weight. 

She had Ron's head for strategy and reading the game; she could anticipate the movements of both her teammates and opponents with uncanny accuracy. But more than that, she wasn't just about winning. Though she always played to win, she cared about the well-being of her teammates, ensuring that everyone felt valued and respected, no matter their skill level. 

"Listen, mate, I know you fancy her something wicked, but that also means you're the one who's gotta' keep her in line," Ron said, piling another helping of bacon onto his plate. Ginny frowned and flicked a fried tomato his way, but Ron caught it, shrugged, and plopped it in his mouth. 

"Is that what you're doing with Hermione?" Harry asked, feigning innocence. Hermione's head turned so quickly Harry swore he almost heard it.

"Yes. Wait. What? No—I—err…" Ron coughed, caught between mouthfuls. He sputtered helplessly for a second and took a long drink of pumpkin juice, then slammed the now-empty glass down on the table. He glanced sheepishly at Hermione. "Hi."

"Honestly, Ronald," Hermione rolled her eyes. Ron gave him a pleading look, but Hermione drove on. "Please tell me exactly how you 'keep me in line'."

"Harry, what do I do?" Ron muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

Harry laughed and shook his head. "Hey, Gin, didn't we have that conveniently-timed distraction in the orchard to get to right about now?" he said with a grin. He nodded his head to the door.

"Yep," Ginny shot her brother a mischievous grin and sprung to her feet. 

"Wait. Don't!" Ron stammered. 

"Have fun!" Ginny said. She hesitated for a split second before grabbing the bacon off Ron's plate and leading Harry out the door. The door closed behind them just as Hermione began to launch into a tirade. Once outside she looped her arm around his and leaned against his shoulder.

"You're sure they're actually together, right?" Ginny asked as they made their way towards the orchard. "Because I honestly can't tell the difference."

Harry remembered the moment from a few nights prior when he'd returned to their room and found Ron shirtless and waiting for Hermione. He suppressed a shudder. "Positive," he said. "They've spent years working each other up. I'd be more worried if they started getting on perfectly all of a sudden."

"I don't get it," Ginny admitted, shaking her head.

"I think it's just how they flirt," Harry said. He glanced over his shoulder to the Burrow. "If your mum wasn't still in the house they'd probably be snogging right now."

"C'mon, Harry, that's my brother," Ginny swatted him on the arm. 

"Hypocrite," Harry said teasingly. "I seem to recall someone getting rather cross when their sibling caught them snogging and got all out of sorts."

"Is that really what you want to bring up while we're walking out alone into the orchard for a 'conveniently-timed distraction'?" Ginny asked. 

"Forget I said anything," Harry said quickly.

"Smart man, Potter."

They settled under one of the trees in the orchard and Harry pulled Ginny onto his lap. She giggled and leaned into him. Harry leaned back against the rough bark of the tree, his arms wrapping loosely around Ginny's waist. 

"Comfy?" he teased, his lips curving into a grin.

"Very," Ginny replied. She settled against his chest. "You make a good cushion, Potter."

"Better than this tree," Harry quipped back.

"How does it compare to a broom cupboard?" Ginny asked, tracing featherlight touches along his forearm. 

"Which one?" he said teasingly.

"At Hogwarts."

"Which one?" he teased again.

"Our favorite," she said.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "I don't think I have a favorite."

"What? Yes you do," Ginny insisted. "You told me so."

Harry chuckled, his hands resting lightly on her hips, his thumbs brushing small circles against the fabric of her shirt. "My favorite was whichever we were in at the time."

Ginny tilted her head to meet his gaze, her eyes sparkling with mischief and something else that made his heart race.

"Harry," she said softly, her voice barely a whisper.

"Yeah?"

She closed the small distance between them and her lips found his. The kiss was slow at first, tender and exploratory, but it quickly deepened. Her fingers thread through his hair in the way that always drove him wild and his hands tightened on her waist.

The world around them seemed to fade, lost to the thrum of blood pounding in his ears and the warmth of her pressed against him. Ginny shifted slightly to straddle his lap. Harry's breath hitched as her hands began to trace the contours of his chest, slipping under the hem of his shirt.

"Ginny," he murmured against her lips, his voice low.

"Hmm?" she hummed, her hands wandering further, her touch both teasing and insistent.

His thoughts jumbled together, torn between hesitation and the undeniable pull of the moment. "We're…outside," he managed to say, though the words lacked conviction.

"I've noticed," Ginny said, trailing kisses down his jawline. Ginny pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, her cheeks flushed. Her lips curved into a wicked smile. "No one's coming out here," she said, her voice playful.

Harry couldn't argue with her logic—he didn't exactly want to. With one final glance around, he let his hands slide up her back, drawing her closer. Ginny kissed him again, her movements bolder now, her fingers tugging at his shirt.

The intensity between them grew, their kisses deepening. Harry's hands skimmed up her legs and cupped her bum, and Ginny pushed herself against him at his touch. He could feel her smile against his lips. He pulled back slightly, resting his forehead against hers.

Ginny blinked at him, her eyes dark. "Too much?" she asked gently.

He shook his head, a small laugh escaping him as he rubbed the back of his neck. "No, it's not that. I just…" He trailed off, glancing around at their secluded spot. "Getting caught at Hogwarts feels different than getting caught here."

Ginny grinned, her cheeks flushed as she settled back into his lap, her hands now resting on his shoulders. "Fair enough," she said. She brushed a strand of hair from his face. "I suppose it wouldn't kill us to slow down."

"At least when we're right out in the open," Harry agreed, his own cheeks warm as he leaned back against the tree. He still found it hard to flaunt the trust the Weasleys had shown him. Sneaking around at night was—apparently—fine, but snogging in the orchard was where he supposed he drew the line. "Maybe we'll continue this later."

"Making promises, Potter?" 

"Only the best kind," He said.

Ginny grinned and kissed him deeply, leaving Harry struggling to resist the temptation to reignite their snogging session. She seemed to sense this—because she somehow always seemed to—and snuggled down against his chest again.

"This was a good idea," she said softly. "Way better than listening to Hermione and my brother argue about N.E.W.T.s." He hummed in agreement. "Though I suppose if I go back next term I'll get to experience the Hermione Revision Schedule myself."

"You'll probably appreciate it after you get your results, but during the year…" He shook his head playfully. "Does that mean you're going back?"

"I don't think I was really considering not," Ginny admitted. She took his hand and began tracing widening circles on his palm. It sent shivers up his spine. "It's not like there's too much to do without my N.E.W.T.s unless I do the Auror thing."

"That'd give your mum a heart attack," Harry said.

"And that's not…"

"Not really your calling?" Harry supplied. Ginny nodded and placed a light kiss at the center of his palm. He groaned.

"Sorry," she said, pulling his hand away from her lips but changing little else. 

"No, you're not," he teased accusingly.

"No, I'm not," she agreed with a grin that set his heart racing. 

"I think you just like making things hard for me."

"And here I thought I was making things hard for me," she said, and ground her hips against him in a way that set his heart pounding for an entirely different reason.

"Merin—fuck—Gin!" Harry gasped. His hands flew to her sides and she shrieked in laughter. 

"No fair tickling me," she said as she scooted out of his reach. Her face was flush, her freckles looking darker, but there was no hint of that awkwardness they'd struggled with until recently.

"Oh, tickling is where we're drawing the line, is it?" 

"Yes."

Harry rolled his eyes and pulled her closer. He fixed her with a warning glare, but couldn't stop the grin from fighting its way onto his face. "You're going to get me in trouble."

"Oh, please," she waved him off. "Mum and Dad would be more upset with me than with you. Besides, I'm going to snog you every chance I get if you're not coming back to Hogwarts with me."

"What do you—"

"Come on, Harry," Ginny said, turning serious. "If you were going to go back to Hogwarts you wouldn't be talking about Hermione Revision like you weren't going to be there with me."

"I…" Harry trailed off. That hadn't occurred to him. "Maybe I have already decided." 

"You've always wanted to be an Auror," Ginny said. He nodded. It was a poorly-kept secret, and certainly not a secret between them , but his heart warmed hearing her talk about his future so casually. 

"I did—do, I mean," Harry said quickly. He scratched his neck thoughtfully. "But I'm worried that was just because of everything going on with Voldemort." He glanced down in embarassment. "What if I hate it? What if I love it but I'm rubbish at it?"

Ginny laughed. "You, Harry?" she took his face in her hands and forced him to look her in the eyes. "Did you not do all of those things you told Kingsley about?" He nodded. "Do you think an Auror could pull all that off while being the most wanted man in Britain?"

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. "It always sounds more impressive if you say it like that."

"I didn't say anything," Ginny countered with a smirk. "I just made you think back to the things you did and made you admit they were impressive." He grunted and she rolled her eyes. "Besides, it's not like they don't train you. You think everyone just struts into their first day on the job as an Elite Auror?"

Harry sighed and nodded, conceding her point. "I'm just nervous," he admitted.

"It's not bad being nervous about your future," Ginny pointed out. 

"I never really gave myself the luxury of…"

"Thinking too much about it. I know," Ginny said. Merlin, she knew him so well . "But, Harry, you've been investigating dark magic and Dark Wizards since you were eleven years old."

Harry doubted it was that simple or straightforward, but kept that to himself.

"Look, if you're really worried about it, ask Dad or Percy about that Gawain guy who's in charge of the Auror Office now," she suggested. A grin fell over her face and she poked his side playfully. "Or ask Kingsley and I bet he'll introduce you." 

"I don't want to get special treatment," Harry insisted. He was only beginning to really understand how much things were going to change around him. He'd avoided going into public wizarding places so far, but the articles he'd read since the battle treated like some sort of messiah. It was embarrassing, really. 

"You're going to find jealous people who want to say you've gotten…wherever you end up because of being Harry Potter everywhere you go for the rest of your life," Ginny said seriously. Harry winced. It sounded horrible . "At least until you prove them wrong. So…why not get something for your trouble?"

Harry nodded his head side to side thoughtfully. It still wouldn't feel right. "Maybe I'll ask your dad," he said. "I don't want to bother Percy. He's been really…preoccupied with everything else going on."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Please, Percy would love to talk Ministry stuff with you. I can't imagine how left-out he's feeling with all the paperwork they're all getting to do without him."

He nodded, a smile cutting through his defeat. "How do you always make things seem so easy ?"

"Because I'm bloody brilliant," she said smugly. 

"You are," he admitted.

"And don't forget it," she said. She settled back and gave him an appraising look, her head cocked to the side. "So, Auror Potter—damn, that's sexy." She looked thunderstruck. "Now I can't stop picturing you in an Auror's uniform."

Harry laughed, loudly and unabashed. He wrapped his arms tightly around Ginny, burying his face against her chest as the laughter bubbled up uncontrollably. She wrapped her arms around him and placed a kiss on top of his head. 

He pulled back, unable to help the grin. "I—you're amazing."

A strange look of triumph and disappointment fell across her face for a moment so fleeting that Harry was left wondering if he'd imagined it. It was quickly replaced by another smile that made his heart skip a beat. She really was incredible. Still, the flash of something that flitted across her face left him worried. He didn't think he'd done anything wrong, but something felt off.

"Alright, Miss Weasley, since we're talking about the future," Harry began, trying to keep his tone light. "You're clearly not too worried about N.E.W.T.s this year."

"Why would I stress over N.E.W.T.s after everything last year?" Ginny challenged. "Just because you're scared and want to skive off after sixth year. Maybe I'm just smarter than you."

"Don't I know it," he said with a grin. He reached out to tuck a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. "But I think there's something else on your mind."

"Oh, do you?" she said with a smirk.

"I do. See, I've noticed a few things about you," he said. 

"I've seen you noticing my things," she teased, her smirk widening.

Harry frowned playfully and poked her in the side, earning a startled, ticklish shriek. "You've been getting up early and working out like we've got the Quidditch Cup finals next week," he said.

"I just want to win." Ginny shrugged with casual indifference.

"You're at Oliver Wood levels of dedication."

"Well I don't know what the rest of the team will look like this year," she admitted, her shoulders dropping slightly. "I'm sure Demelza will be back—Jimmy and Ritchie, too—but we need another Chaser and a Seeker. A Keeper, too, if Ron isn't coming back."

"What did you do last year?" Harry asked, fighting a pang of guilt. They'd never really talked about her experiences with Quidditch during the past year, and he realized how much it must have mattered to her.

Ginny shook her head. "We never even got the chance to hold tryouts," she said flatly. "I know you said Snape was on our side, but…I never would have guessed." 

Harry frowned. His own feelings for Snape were…complicated at best, but he pushed that aside. "Well you might luck out with Chasers," he said, ignoring the churning in his stomach. "I'm betting Dean wants to finish his seventh year after being on the run."

Ginny shrugged. "Dean's alright. But he's never really clicked with me and Demelza." 

Harry felt some of his discomfort settle but quickly masked it. "You could always play Seeker. You did win us the Cup."

"Yeah, I could," Ginny shrugged, but she seemed unconvinced.

"But you want to play Chaser," Harry said. Ginny nodded. "You want to be seen playing Chaser."

Ginny looked away and chewed her bottom lip. "I think…I want to play professionally." She couldn't meet his gaze. "At least, I want to try," she added quickly.

Harry turned her chin so that she was looking him in the eyes. "You'd be fucking brilliant."

Ginny rolled her eyes, but her cheeks turned pink. "You're my boyfriend—you have to say that."

"I've never said anything I was just supposed to say and you know it," Harry countered. "You regularly outfly everyone on a school broom . You play Seeker almost as well as I do—"

"Excuse me, almost?" Ginny challenged, fixing him with the blazing look he adored. "How many Quidditch Cups have you won?"

"I was on the team when we won in '93," Harry challenged back.

"Well I played Seeker to win two different Cups," Ginny said triumphantly. "While you were sitting on your pretty arse in detention or whatever."

Harry laughed, shaking his head. "My point," he said, leveling a teasing frown at her, "is that Seeker isn't even your best position." His grin softened as he looked at her. "I've seen you play. I've seen you fly. Do you really want to play pro?"

Ginny gave him a hard, accusing look. "Yes, I just—"

"You said 'I think.' That's not a Ginny move."

"I want to play professionally," Ginny said, a little more convincing this time. He gave her an expectant look. "I'm going to play professionally."

"Then we need to get you back on a broom as soon as possible," Harry said, a decisive edge to his voice as he stood. He extended a hand toward Ginny, helping her to her feet with a steady pull. "Sounds like a trip to Diagon Alley is in order."

"I'm glad you asked, Harry. I think it would be an excellent idea for you to meet with Mr. Robards," said Percy as the family tucked into dinner later that evening. Bill and Fleur had joined them from Shell Cottage as well.

Harry shot Ginny a knowing look, and watched as she fought back a smirk.

"In fact, I know for certain that he caused quite a bit of trouble for the Thickenese Administration and the Muggle-Born Registration Commission," Percy continued, passing a bowl of potatoes to George. "He never acted outright, of course—far too much scrutiny for that—but his investigations were always very thorough. He refused to make accusations until he had undeniable proof and interviewed friends and family of suspected muggle-borns enough for them to pass along warnings."

"Kingsley wouldn't have appointed him to such an important position if he didn't trust Robards implicitly. There are still too many Death Eaters and former followers of Voldemort at-large," Mr. Weasley said. He gave Harry an appraising look. "It sounds like you're considering Kingsley's offer."

Harry could feel Ron's gaze on him. "I think I am," he admitted. "I've always wanted to be an Auror. I just…want to make sure it's for the right reasons, and not just because I had all the Voldemort stuff to deal with."

"Then you should sit down with Robards," Mr. Weasley suggested, looking from Harry to Ron and back again. "He's a hard man, but he's fair, and he believes in justice." 

"We could make a day of it," Mrs. Weasley suggested, setting another helping of roasted vegetables in front of Harry. He shot Ron a helpless look, but Ron just shrugged and kept eating from his ever-refilling plate. "There are a few things we've been meaning to pick up from Diagon Alley anyway."

"I should check in with Gringotts as well," Bill muttered. He spared Harry a wary glance. "But you might want to keep a low profile with them for the time being."

Harry shook his head. "Kingsley said most of it's been smoothed over already," he said. "Told me not to worry about it."

"What? When was that?" Ginny asked.

"After Fred's," he answered, swallowing thickly. He still wasn't comfortable bringing it up, not so soon after. "He pulled me aside before we went to the Quidditch pitch."

"That's great," Ron said between mouthfuls. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Honestly there were other things on my mind that day," Harry said with a shrug. "He said I'll probably have to meet with the Head Goblin and make amends, but…"

"And I should stop by the shop and see how much work needs to be done," George said offhandedly, though his voice shook slightly in the middle. 

There was a beat of silence before Mrs. Weasley asked tentatively, "Are you sure, dear? No one would fault you for taking some more time."

George shook his head. "Freddie would rise from the grave and haunt me if I took too much more time to get it back open," he said. "It was our calling; it deserves to open again."

"I think that's a wonderful idea," said Mr. Weasley, his eyes misty. "Fred would be proud of you."

There were mutters of agreement all around. George focused intently on his plate, his ears burning red. 

Hermione glanced pointedly at Ron and nudged him. He looked momentarily confused before realization dawned on him.

"Er, since we're talking plans," Ron began awkwardly, "Hermione and I need to head to Diagon Alley too."

"And make arrangements at the Ministry," Hermione added. She shifted uncomfortably, poking at her food.

"Oh?" Mr. Weasley asked. He placed his utensils down and exchanged glances with Mrs. Weasley. There was a moment of back-and-forth conversation between them, communicated only by the widening and narrowing of eyes, the shaking and nodding of heads, the changing angles of lips, and the widening or narrowing of eyes.

"Is there…err…something we should be… expecting ?" Mrs. Weasley asked, her voice even but her eyes seeming to blaze accusingly at the same time. Harry suddenly understood exactly where Ginny had gotten her temper from.

"Molly," Mr. Weasley said placatingly. He turned back to Ron. "Now, I know we wanted to give you all some…err…freedom, but I thought we had talked about propriety as well, and—"

"No! Dad!" Ron exclaimed, his face turning a deeper shade of red than Harry had ever seen. Around the table, the other Weasleys struggled to control their reactions. George let out a snorting laugh. Bill and Fleur exchanged amused glances, Charlie hid his face in his hands, and even Percy was biting his lip.

Hermione looked mortified, her face scarlet. "No—Sir, we only—"

"We need to talk with Kingsley about arranging an international portkey," Ron cut in, his words tumbling out quickly, his face still burning.

"International—absolutely not, Ronald," Mrs. Weasley objected. "What could you possibly—"

"Hermione's parents are in Australia," Ron cut in, casting a nervous glance to his parents. 

Hermione took a deep breath and quickly explained what she had done to protect her parents, leaving the rest of the table stunned. Ron took her hand as she spoke, his grip steady. When she'd finished there were tears in Mrs. Weasley's eyes, and Mr. Weasley looked like he'd been asked to swallow a Hungarian Horntail.

"Oh, my dear," Mrs. Weasley murmured, rising from her seat to pull Hermione into a tight embrace.

"Goodness," Mr. Weasley muttered, removing his glasses to massage the bridge of his nose. "This is certainly a complicated situation."

"I'm so sorry for the trouble," Hermione whispered. Her face had gone pale. "I just—I didn't know what else to—"

"Oh none of that, Hermione, dear," Mrs. Weasley said soothingly. She turned to her husband. "Arthur, we have to do something."

"Almost be easier if Ron had gotten her pregnant," George said. 

"George!" Mr. and Mrs. Weasley scolded together.

"Just trying to break the tension," George mumbled with wide eyes. 

"We'll get this sorted, Hermione," Mr. Weasley assured. He gave Ron an appraising look. "And you two were just going to…go off and try to find them?"

Ron shrugged. "Not unless we had no other options, but if we had to…"

Mr. Weasley smiled. "Good man."

"Arthur!" Mrs. Weasley gasped.

"Oh, Molly, he's a grown man," Mr. Weasley said proudly, nodding to his youngest son. "He spent a year hunting Horcruxes and facing down Death Eaters. That he's willing to go to the other side of the world for Hermione…"

Harry wasn't sure it was possible, but Hermione and Ron both went even brighter red. Hermione sat perfectly straight, still in Mrs. Weasley's embrace while Ron busied himself pushing around the few remaining vegetables on his plate.

Mr. Weasley clapped his hands together. "Well, why don't we plan for that then?" he suggested. "We'll swing by the Ministry tomorrow morning, then head to Diagon Alley in the afternoon once we know what to expect, yeah?"

"I'll go too," said Charlie, drawing surprised looks from the table. He looked from his father to Percy. "It'd be helpful if one of you could get me in touch with someone at the Department of International Magical Cooperation. I need to fast-track a letter to the dragon reserve in Romania.."

"Oh, what for?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"Well, I've been thinking about that dragon you let loose from Gringotts," Charlie said, glancing at Ron as he rubbed his short-cropped hair. "Been reading the papers but other than the mention of it about you lot, no one's said a thing. Big dragon like that shouldn't be too hard to find though, and it definitely shouldn't be flying wild like that over the countryside."

"What do you think they'll do about it?" Percy asked, leaning forward, clearly interested in the Ministry angle.

"I'm going to ask the reserve for more time here," Charlie said, leaning back in his seat. "Enough time to help locate the dragon and figure out the best place to relocate it. Depending on its species, we might be able to keep it at a reserve here in Britain, but Romania might still be the best option."

"Oh, that's splendid, Charlie!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, her face lighting up. "It would be so nice to have you home longer."

"Hear, hear!" George said, raising his glass in a mock toast.

"Let's not get carried away," Charlie cautioned, trying to temper their enthusiasm. "It won't be permanent. Romania's reserve is still the largest in the world, and most of the work and research happens there." Mrs. Weasley nodded eagerly, clearly thrilled at the prospect of her wayward son staying closer to home. "But leading this kind of project would be a big step forward in my career and could open up new opportunities for me back in Romania."

"Wonderful!" Mr. Weasley patted his son on the back. 

"Our children are all growing up, Arthur," Mrs. Weasley said, her eyes misting over as she dabbed at them with a napkin. "We're so proud of you all."

"Not that I'm complaining," Ron muttered, "but weren't you just yelling at me about getting Hermione pregnant?"

"Ron!" Hermione gasped and swatted him on the arm again. She glanced around the table pleadingly. "I'm not pregnant!"

Chuckling, George leaned over to Harry and Ginny conspiratorially. "Tomorrow's trip is shaping up to be absolutely bloody mental!" he whispered. "I can't wait."

"Ginny, that was mortifying," Hermione groaned, collapsing face-first onto her camp bed. She buried her face in her pillow and let out a muffled shriek of embarrassment. Ginny bit her bottom lip, struggling to keep from laughing at her friend's misery.

"Well you handled it…brilliantly?" Ginny offered unconvincingly. Hermione groaned louder, and Ginny thought for a moment before adding, "I don't think we've ever had a pregnancy scare in the family. Honestly, I think everyone handled it really well, don't you?"

"It wasn't a pregnancy scare!" Hermione shot upright, glaring at her. "It was your brother phrasing things in the most vague way possible and your parents interpreting those things in the absolute worst way!"

"It was bloody hilarious," Ginny said with a wicked grin as she flopped onto her own bed.

"Not for me!"

"Well obviously not," Ginny shrugged. "But if it helps, the rest of us thought it was brilliant."

"It doesn't."

Ginny shrugged again, the corners of her mouth twitching as she fought the urge to needle her further.

"How could they think—Ron and I—" Hermione stammered, her face scarlet as she gestured vaguely with her hands. She looked to Ginny imploringly. "It's been—we've only been together two weeks!"

"It does seem like longer, doesn't it," Ginny mused. She tapped her lip thoughtfully. "You're certain you didn't get together before that? Maybe snuck off while you were hunting Horcruxes?" She dodged the pillow Hermione threw at her with a laugh. "Okay, okay. So… you two haven't…?"

"Ginny!" Hermione scolded, her face flushed with embarrassment. "He's—that's—your brother!"

"I'm just asking," Ginny said, raising her hands defensively. "Besides, who else are you going to talk to about this if not me?" She stood up, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "I could always go get Mum if you—"

"Don't you dare!" Hermione gasped, her eyes wide with horror. "You're a menace!" Despite the outrage in her voice, she was grinning from ear to ear.

Ginny collapsed back onto her bed, fighting the urge to laugh. "So…you and Ron?"

"We've only been together for two weeks!" Hermione repeated, flustered. "And at not exactly the most romantic of times."

Ginny nodded, she could certainly understand. It had taken her and Harry a while to get back into their rhythm after the battle as well. Navigating a transition from friends to something more, while dealing with all the changes, couldn't have been easy for Hermione and Ron.

"Well," Ginny said, "I think it made the whole Australia thing easier for them to swallow."

"Silver linings," Hermione muttered grumpily, but Ginny could tell she was more upset than she was letting on.

"Are you really that worried about it?"

"What if we can't get a portkey? What if we can't find them?" Hermione asked desperately. "What if we can and I can't fix what I did to them? And even if I do, what if…I changed their entire identities—"

"To protect them," Ginny interrupted gently.

"What if they don't see it that way? What if they don't forgive me?" Hermione sank into the camp bed, worry creasing her face. "I didn't even…I'm not sure I know how to fix it."

Ginny had to admire how she'd held it together for so long. Almost an entire year of pushing this worry to the back of her mind and focusing on helping Harry and Ron, and then focusing on being there for Ginny's family through their loss and grief. 

Ginny crossed the room and sat beside Hermione on the bed. "If anyone can figure out how to do it, it's you," Ginny told her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "Same girl who brewed Polyjuice Potion as a second year, managed a double schedule with a time turner, figured out Rita Skeeter's secret, fought Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries, figured out the Deathly Hallows and how to kill a Horcrux…" Hermione shifted uncomfortably. "If I told you that girl was going with you to help set your parents right, would that make you feel better?"

Hermione fixed Ginny with an appraising look. "You would make a much better Quidditch Captain than Harry."

Ginny fell back laughing. "Not fishing for compliments, but I'll take it."

"Speaking of you and Harry," Hermione began with a conspiratorial grin. "Have you two…"

"What? No," Ginny said quickly. Too quickly, she realized a moment too late.

"Oh. Well you can't blame me for asking after all the grief I got tonight," Hermione said sternly. "Besides, with the way you were pining over each other, then together for a few weeks, and then pining for each other all over again…"

"You make me sound like a lovestruck little girl," Ginny mumbled grumpily.

"Well you didn't see Harry mooning over your dot on the map," Hermione pointed out. 

"Ron told me," Ginny said.

Hermione scoffed affectionately. "Ron only noticed because I pointed it out." She fixed Ginny with a piercing look. "I just figured after all that time apart, you two would…"

Ginny shook her head. "No, nothing like—it's certainly gotten intense," she felt her neck and ears color, and couldn't help the grin that tugged at her lips, "but we haven't…" Ginny chewed her lip nervously. It wasn't that the thought hadn't occurred to her, and she was certain he'd thought about it, but she always assumed he'd have expressed his feelings towards her first.

"I think I love him," she said quietly.

Hermione froze, her eyes widening. "Really? Have you told him?"

Ginny felt herself flush, but shook her head "No," she admitted, her voice felt small. "It feels…big." 

Hermione's eyes widened. 

"Not like—Hermione!" Ginny gasped scandalously. "Saying it feels bigger than anything I've said before. I don't know how he'll react." She hesitated, biting her lip again. "But sometimes, when he looks at me, or when he keeps me close like he did at the funerals…I feel it."

"How so?"

"It's just...it's kind of like how I feel around my family." Ginny shook her head. She felt she was doing a poor job explaining it. "Like when he met Teddy for the first time, after Remus and Tonks's funeral," she said, taking a breath. "He kept me close the whole time, like he needed me there. You should've seen the way he held Teddy—so careful, so protective. And he looked at me like..." she hesitated for a moment, "like I was part of it. Part of his family, too."

Hermione smiled softly, and Ginny powered on.

"And there've been moments—little ones—where I think he's about to say it, or wants to. Like, when we're together, when he's here at night, or when it's just us out in the orchard…but he never does."

"Ginny, I think he does love you," Hermione said. Ginny felt her breath catch in her throat. Her heart was pounding. "But…Harry's not like most people in that regard. He's been through a lot ."

"I know," Ginny said quickly. "I know he's been hurt. He lost his parents, and Sirius, and…but this is different. Isn't it?"

Hermione sighed, her voice soft and patient. "It's not just about the people he's lost, Ginny. It's about the life he had before Hogwarts—or didn't have. You know his relatives were awful to him, but he doesn't talk about just how bad it really was."

Ginny frowned and leaned forward. "What do you mean?"

Hermione hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "Harry grew up in a house where he wasn't loved. The Dursleys…they didn't just neglect him. They went out of their way to make him feel unwanted . He's told us things over the years—little details that he doesn't even realize are…" She frowned, and Ginny could see a rare look of disgust on her face. "Vile."

Ginny's chest clenched. "Like what?"

"Like being locked in a cupboard for years. Or being punished just for existing," Hermione's bottom lip trembled. "He was treated like a burden. He was abused, and made to feel that it was his fault. That's not something you just...unlearn."

Ginny's stomach dropped. Her heart ached as she thought about Harry's quiet moments—the way he looked after everyone else, the way he always put himself last, like he didn't believe he was worth more. "I hate them for that," Ginny said fiercely. "He's Harry. He's kind and thoughtful and selfless. I hate that there are people out there who should have loved him but made him feel so worthless." 

She looked around her room, small as it was. She thought about Percy, who had alienated himself from the family but had been welcomed back immediately . "I can't imagine…we've never had many things, but even when I was furious with them, I always knew my family loved me. That I could tell them that and they'd say it right back without a second thought."

"I don't think…" Hermione hesitated, fixing Ginny with a piercing look. "I don't know if anyone has ever told him they loved him."

"Ever?" Ginny's voice cracked.

"I'm sure his mum or dad when he was a baby, but after that...who?" Hermione asked, shrugging helplessly. "Sirius might've, I suppose, but I'm not sure." She looked down thoughtfully. "He was hard to get in touch with and…rather damaged himself. And the Dursleys—well…

"I don't think he's ever heard the words, 'I love you,' said to him," Hermione continued softly. She shook her head angrily. "Ron and I—we should have done more. Tried harder. But…we were just kids and there was so much else…"

"That's not your fault, Hermione," Ginny said, placing a hand on her knee.

"No, it's not," Hermione agreed, nodding. "But I still feel awful thinking about it. He's the closest thing I have to a brother and I never told him…" Hermione sniffed loudly. "He went to die, Ginny, never having heard someone tell him they loved him."

A long moment of silence stretched between them, and Ginny thought about Harry's confession; of how his last thought had been of her. He'd gone to die—to give his life in the hope of giving them a chance—having never heard "I love you" but thinking of her.

"I'm going to tell him," Ginny decided finally. She could feel Hermione's gaze snap to her. "And if he's not ready, that's okay. I'll wait. But I'm not going to let him go any longer without hearing it."

"So. That could have gone better," Ron muttered, collapsing into his bed.

Harry bit his cheek to keep from laughing and feigned ignorance. "Not sure what you mean, Ron."

Ron shot him an unimpressed look. "Don't give me that," he said. "That was probably the most mortifying dinner of my life, mate." He scrunched up his face. "And I've spent an evening vomiting slugs."

Harry stifled a laugh. "Better you than me."

"Oh just you wait," Ron growled, glaring over at Harry. "Soon as Mum and Dad figure out how you and Ginny are carrying on during your 'long walks in the orchard' you'll be getting it, too."

"We haven't—"

"That didn't help me," Ron sniped. Harry conceded the point with a grin. 

Ron lay back with his arms folded behind his head. "So you're really going to be an Auror, eh?"

Harry dropped into the camp bed with a sigh. "Thinking about it," he admitted, then shook his head. "Well, more-than 'thinking,' I guess. Ginny helped me figure it out earlier today. Said I was talking about Hogwarts like I wasn't going to be there."

"She just wants to be Quidditch Captain," Ron said.

"She'd be better at it than me."

Ron looked ready to object but realization seemed to dawn on him. "Yeah, reckon you got a point," he said with a shrug. "She's bloody brilliant on a broom."

"You give next year any thought yet?" Harry dared to ask. Everything with the Weasleys was still so painfully raw. Dinner that evening was really the first time they had been able to talk about the future and their plans as a family; the first time he'd seen the spark return to them since…Bill's wedding, probably.

"Nah," Ron sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I still feel like there's too much to do. I feel like…like I'm being pulled in half a dozen different directions all at once. George's shop, Mum and Dad, Hermione's parents, you—"

"Me?" Harry goggled.

"Yes, you," Ron insisted, sitting up. "I'm not sure if you realized it, Harry, but we're bloody worried about you." Harry gave him a confused look. "You died, Harry. You snuck off and died. So yeah, Voldemort's gone, but we're worried about you all the same."

"Who's 'we'?"

"Hermione and I," Ron said, throwing up his hands. "Who else?"

"You don't have to worry about me," Harry insisted. He sat up as well. "I'm doing better, I promise."

"I know you are," Ron admitted with a sigh. "But you're too good at shoving down what you need to take care of other people. And I'm worried that if Hermione and I are off looking for her parents no one is going to notice if you're not okay."

"Ron," Harry said, his voice softening. "You guys don't have to do that alone. After everything you've done for me—"

"You've got other responsibilities here," Ron cut him off. "Mum and Dad can't stop me from going to help Hermione, but they'd never let Ginny go. She's not of age." Harry nodded. "And I'm not going to let you leave her. She needs you. Teddy needs you, too." Ron swallowed thickly, his eyes never leaving Harry's. "And…if I'm being honest. I need you here."

"Oh, so you're just looking to get Hermione alone on the other side of the world?" Harry teased.

Ron chucked a pillow at his head and it knocked his glasses askew. "That joke wasn't funny when Ginny made it, it's even less funny from you." 

Harry hurled Ron's pillow back, but he caught it easily. Damn Keeper reflexes. "I trust you to be here for my family if I can't be."

Harry nodded. "Always, mate."

Ron frowned, his brow creased with worry. "I just…I'm torn, Harry." He fixed Ron with a curious look. "I think…I left you once when you really needed me. Last winter. I'm—I don't want to do that again."

Harry felt his gaze soften. He nodded in understanding. "You came back when I needed you, too."

"I know," Ron said with a sigh, his head dropping. "And I know we're good, but—"

"You broke her heart when you left, too," Harry pointed out. Ron swallowed down a grimace. "She's forgiven you, clearly. But I think…if you're serious about her—"

"Deadly."

"Then you need to go," Harry said. He smiled. "I've been watching your mum and dad—"

"Weird, but go on."

"Prat," Harry muttered, rolling his eyes. "They back each other up. Even when they disagree they make sure they're never alone in it." 

Ron nodded his understanding. "The three of us have been together every step of the way," he said.

"We still are," Harry said pointedly. "We just need to do these parts separately. You make sure that Hermione gets her family back. I'll look out for everyone here for you. Deal?" 

Ron grimaced and gave a reluctant nod. 

"Ron, if you don't go with her I'm going to hex you." 

Ron sighed and shook his head, a grin finally finding its way onto his face. "Deal, mate."

Chapter Text

May 18, 1998

The door to the Minister's office swung open, and Harry and Ron stepped inside. The room was spacious but far from the grand, polished office Harry had imagined for the office of the Minister for Magic. High, vaulted ceilings loomed overhead, and enchanted sconces cast steady golden light across the room. Boxes were scattered throughout—some neatly labeled with Kingsley's name, others still bearing the initials of his predecessor. Their contents spilled over with papers, books, and forgotten artifacts. A large oak desk stood at the center, its surface already cluttered with stacks of parchment and magical maps of wizarding Britain. 

Kingsley stood near the desk, his gaze fixed on one of the maps. He nodded, deep in thought. He was a stark difference to the first Minister Harry had met. Cornelius Fudge may as well have been a Pygmy Puff by comparison. Kingsley's towering frame radiated quiet authority even amid the cluttered chaos of his new office. 

Beside him, a second man turned sharply. Gawain Robards was everything Harry imagined a senior Auror to be—radiating authority and precision. His dark charcoal robes were tailored to perfection, sweeping over broad shoulders and a lean, athletic build. The silver embroidery along his robes caught the light as he moved. The Ministry's crest, stitched neatly over his chest, was a subtle but unmistakable badge of rank. Beneath his robes, sturdy leather boots hinted at readiness, and his posture was one of coiled vigilance. 

His face was rugged, with a strong jawline lightly shadowed by stubble, and piercing blue eyes that seemed to cut through the room like daggers. As he regarded Harry and Ron, those eyes seemed to take the measure of them in an instant. 

Harry was struck suddenly by the thought of a young, unmarred, Mad-Eye Moody.

"Harry, Ron," Kingsley said warmly, breaking the moment as he stepped forward to greet them. "Welcome. This is Gawain Robards, Head of the Auror Office. I thought it was time you met properly."

Robards extended a hand, his grip firm but respectful. His expression was unreadable save for the faintest flicker of appraisal. "I've heard a lot about you," he said, his voice deep and clipped, each word deliberate. "Some of it, quite unbelievable."

Harry caught a look of wary annoyance flicker across Kingsley's face, but he held Robards's gaze. Ginny's warning that there would always be people looking for reasons to doubt him until he proved them wrong flashed through his mind, along with Mr. Weasley's assurance that Robards would be someone Kingsley trusted implicitly.

"And yet, here you stand," Robards said. A fleeting pleased look flashed over his face but was gone just as quickly. "The Minister tells me you are considering taking part in Auror selection." 

Harry nodded, noticing how easily the acknowledgment came. This meeting was the first step in something he never dared hope for. A future. He felt, for the first time, what he could only really describe as momentum .

Beside him, Ron nodded as well. Slower, and less sharply, but noticed that his eyes didn't waver when he did.

"You realize that while the Minister has relaxed the selection process, your success in Auror Basic Training will be the deciding factor with regards to your future in this department."

Harry nodded.

"We figured as much," Ron said casually. 

Harry fought the urge to widen his eyes and wheel around in warning. What the hell was Ron thinking? 

"You did, did you?" Robards said in that same clipped, deliberate voice.

Ron shrugged. "Well yeah. You can't have everybody who has a grudge against Death Eaters start joining to get their own justice," he said. "It'd be chaos ."

Robards stared at Ron appraisingly and Harry caught on to what was happening. 

"And we need to be better than any other Aurors," Harry continued for Ron. "From any other past administration. Because if we're not, then all of this," he gestured widely, "is just going to happen again."

Robards looked from him back to Ron, and then back to him again. Then a small smile curved one corner of his mouth. "I tend to agree with the sentiment," he said. He glanced over at Kingsley, who met his smile and nodded—and it was like a switch. Robards's entire demeanor shifted. The icy veneer evaporated. His posture relaxed, and his expression softened. The sharp edge faded, replaced by a sense of respect for the weight he was undertaking.

"Kingsley's told me about the things you've done. Your friend Granger as well. And from what he didn't tell me, I can piece together the rest," Robards said. "The necessary parts, at least."

Harry cast a worried glance Kingsley's way, but the Minister simply nodded assuredly. Harry released a breath.

"I assure you, you have my utmost respect. I do not know a single Auror who could have pulled off what you did. By every conceivable metric, you should have failed," he continued. "But I want to assure you that you do not need to accept this offer."

He raised his hand, stopping them as they moved to object. 

"I do not doubt your ability. I do not attribute it all to luck," he assured them. "But from the moment you were born the Ministry has failed you. There should be no single wizard more powerful than a government designed to protect its people. We failed you."

"But those of us here now," Kingsley stepped forward, "are not taking this lightly. The last thing we want you to feel is responsible for those of us who should have been responsible for you."

"Blimey, that's not what I was expecting you to say," Ron stammered.

"I imagine not." Robards shot Kingsley a knowing look and Kingsley just smiled wryly. Harry remembered Mr. Weasley's words again. It was obvious that Kingsley and Robards had worked together for some time. He was reminded, momentarily, of the way he and Ron would have their own silent conversations.

"I don't want to speak for Ron," Harry said, casting Ron a small smile.  "But I think that's why I want to do it."

"Yeah, I guess we appreciate the apology," Ron said with a smirk and a shrug. "But it's not like we can go back to being kids."

"No, I suppose you can't," Robards nodded in agreement, and gestured to Kingsley. "Rebuilding the Auror Department is a critical component for the reconstruction of the Ministry. There are still several high-profile Death Eaters and supporters of Voldemort at large. My number one priority is bringing them in to stand trial." He gave them a pointed look. "I understand you have more history with them than most. Will this be a problem?"

Harry gave Ron a hard look, but found his friend's eyes unfocused. The faces of Fred, Remus, Tonks, Colin, Sirius, and Moody flashed across Harry's memory. Could he face their killers and keep his anger in check? Could Ron? 

"No. They deserve to pay for what they've done," Harry said, speaking without realizing it. "But…I'm not a killer. I don't…" He shook his head.

Robards nodded; he seemed content with the answer. He turned to Ron. "You seem less certain." Ron stammered for a moment, but Robards raised a hand placatingly. "It's not a bad thing to be uncertain of your answer. Just be sure to be certain of the answer before you give it."

"Lot of things going on right now," Ron murmured. 

Kingsley inclined his head. "I've heard as much. Australia, was it?" 

Ron nodded. "Hermione and Dad are at the Department of Magical Transportation now arranging a portkey."

"Excellent. If you encounter any difficulties while you're traveling please don't hesitate to contact me here," Kingsley said, patting Ron on the shoulder. "I was hoping to stop by the Burrow again, but I fear my schedule will not allow it quite yet."

Harry nodded, offering a sympathetic grimace.

Kingsley smiled faintly, though the solemnity in his eyes didn't waver. "The Ministry is planning a memorial to mark one month since the end of the war. It'll take place in the Atrium on the second of June."

Ron shifted. "A memorial? Like…a ceremony?"

"Yes," Kingsley said, his voice steady. "It'll be a time for reflection and remembrance. A chance for the wizarding world to come together, honor those we lost, and acknowledge the sacrifices made to defeat Voldemort."

Harry's chest tightened at the mention of sacrifices. His thoughts immediately went to Fred, Tonks, Remus, and so many others who'd given their lives for the cause. He glanced at Ron, whose jaw had tightened slightly but whose expression remained unreadable.

Kingsley continued, his gaze now fixed on Harry. "You and your friends—Hermione included—played a pivotal role in the events leading to Voldemort's defeat. You've inspired countless witches and wizards, Harry—myself included. And Ron, your family is a symbol of resilience and unity in the darkest of times. The Weasleys, too, are at the heart of this."

Ron rubbed the back of his neck, his ears turning pink. "So, er… what are you asking us to do?"

"I'd like you to attend as honored guests," Kingsley explained. "Your presence will mean a great deal to the people. It's not about the Ministry or speeches—though if you feel moved to say a few words, we'd welcome it. It's about showing the strength of our community and giving people hope as we rebuild."

Harry let the weight of the invitation settle on him. "I'll be there," he said after a moment, his voice firm. "It's the least I can do."

Ron nodded slowly, though he still looked a bit uncomfortable. "Yeah, alright. Don't expect me to make a speech or anything, though."

Kingsley chuckled softly, the sound warm and reassuring. "Understood, Ron. Your presence alone will be enough."

There was a pause, and Harry found himself looking at the papers on Kingsley's desk—lists of names, reports, and letters, all remnants of a war that had ended but whose scars were still fresh. He cleared his throat. "Kingsley, this memorial…it'll mean a lot to everyone. Thank you for organizing it."

Kingsley's smile deepened, and he inclined his head. "It's the least I can do for those who gave everything. And for those still here to carry us forward." He stood, signaling the end of the meeting. "I'll have the details sent to you soon. Thank you, Harry. Ron. For everything." He turned to Robards. "Gawain?"

"Of course," Robards said. He shook their hands with a tight-lipped smile. "I do hope to see you both when training begins in August."

The sun beat down on the cobbled streets of Diagon Alley, uncharacteristically warm for a mid-May afternoon. Ginny squinted against the glare and brushed an errant strand of hair from her face. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other as she stood beside her mother and Bill, her hands tucked into the pockets of her jeans. 

Gringotts loomed ahead, pristine white marble gleaming blindingly in the sunlight. She'd have never guessed that Harry, Ron, and Hermione had smashed through the roof of the bank on dragonback just two weeks before. Her mum's knitting needles clicked steadily beside her. The rhythmic sound was soothing initially, but after nearly an hour it was becoming a little maddening. 

Mum had claimed she needed something to do with her hands while they waited, but Ginny suspected it was more to keep herself from storming into the bank to ensure everything was going smoothly. Bill stood with his arms crossed, he looked calm but his eyes flitted back and forth, tracking every movement near the guarded entrance.

"How much longer do you think they'll be?" Mum asked for the third time, her voice tight with worry.

Bill gave her a reassuring smile, though Ginny could see the flicker of tension in his jaw. "Dad and Harry know what they're doing, Mum. They'll handle it."

"I still don't understand why you didn't go in with them," Mum said, giving Bill a pointed look. "You know Gringotts and goblins better than any of us."

Bill shifted uncomfortably. "Yes, well…I've already damaged a good bit of my standing with the goblins after everything that happened with the break-in. If I'd gone in there with Harry and Dad…" he rubbed the back of his neck. "I didn't want to risk my position—or make things harder for Harry and Dad."

Ginny nodded absently, but her gaze remained fixed on the entrance. She wasn't worried about Harry's ability to smooth things over with the goblins but that didn't make the wait any easier. Her mind drifted to Ron, Hermione, and Percy, who were somewhere in the Alley gathering supplies for Ron and Hermione's trip to find her parents. 

George and Charlie had left earlier to check on the shop with Lee Jordan. Ginny had seen the tight set of his shoulders as he departed, and she hoped Lee's steady presence would help. It felt strange, everyone splitting off in different directions after so long sticking together.

Her eyes snapped back to Gringotts as the heavy doors creaked open. Two figures emerged—her Dad, looking characteristically calm despite the circumstances, and Harry, his head bent slightly as he spoke to Dad. He caught her eye and smiled. Ginny felt her heart jump at the sight of him. 

"Here they come," she said, nudging her mother lightly. Molly's knitting stilled, and she tucked the needles and yarn into her bag as the three of them stepped forward to meet them.

"How'd it go?" Bill asked, his tone casual but carrying a note of worry.

"Smooth as it could have," Dad replied with a smile. "Harry was brilliant." He thumped Harry hard on the back. "Humble of course, offering apologies. I don't think the goblins expected that ."

"How'd you get it all sorted?" Molly asked.

"Well Kingsley did most of the work beforehand," Dad explained. "But we did point out that quarreling with the man who defeated Voldemort and became the darling of the wizarding world would not be good for business." He gave a look around. "Everyone else go their own ways?"

Ginny nodded. "Told Ron and Hermione that we'd meet them at Madam Malkin's to pick up some new things," she said. 

"Wonderful. Shall we?" Dad offered Mum his arm and they walked off together. "Come along now."

Bill made a sweeping "after you" gesture. Harry shot her a grin and offered his arm as well. She leaned into him and they followed her parents down towards the rest of the shops. Diagon Alley had always felt alive, more so than most anywhere else outside of family dinner nights at the Burrow. Now, just two weeks after the Battle of Hogwarts, it was quieter—subdued, but not lifeless. 

Scorch marks marred the walls of some of the shops and newly-repaired windows glinted in the sunlight, though a few industrious shopkeepers had already begun repairing their storefronts. Here and there, magical construction crews hovered on broomsticks, their wands tracing arcs of light that mended broken bricks or reinforced teetering signs. Ginny noticed the once-vivid paint of Flourish and Blotts had dulled, its sign hanging crookedly, though the faint buzz of activity inside suggested the bookstore would soon reopen.

But what caught Ginny's attention most wasn't the sights or smells—it was the people. Heads turned as they passed, and more than a few whispered conversations sparked to life, punctuated by wide eyes and quick glances.

"That's him, isn't it? Harry Potter."

"It is! The Chosen One, right here in Diagon Alley!"

"But who's that with him? Do you think it's—?"

"Not Hermione Granger, is it? No, she's taller…"

Ginny felt Harry stiffen slightly beside her, though he kept his gaze fixed ahead, his arm steady beneath hers. She squeezed it gently, offering silent reassurance. Some of the onlookers smiled tentatively; others simply stared in awe. A few even tipped their hats or nodded respectfully, their whispers carrying a mix of gratitude and curiosity.

"How'd the meeting with Robards go?" Ginny asked as they walked along, hoping to distract him.

"Really well," Harry said. There was a note of excitement in his voice that seemed to reflect itself in the spark of his green eyes. "Your dad was right. Kingsley really trusts him. And I think…I think it's exactly what I want to be doing."

Ginny chewed her bottom lip, torn between excitement for him and disappointment that she would be at Hogwarts without him for an entire year. She stuffed that feeling down and tried to instead focus on his happiness. 

"Did you get a look at the Auror uniform?" she asked, her tongue between her teeth. He shot her that wonderful lopsided grin and his green eyes sparkled as he bumped her with his hip.

Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes loomed ahead, its windows dark for now, the bright orange facade standing as both a reminder of loss and a promise of resilience. Ginny's chest tightened at the sight, but she pushed past the feeling, focusing on the present.

Beyond the feel of Harry's arm around hers, it was the people in the alley that drew her attention most. Witches and wizards moved with quiet determination, a mix of relief and sorrow on their faces. A mother held her son's hand tightly as they passed Ollivanders, its sign newly repainted. A group of Hogwarts-age children were gathered outside Fortescue's , laughing softly as though testing the bounds of joy in a world still healing.

"We'll meet you at the Leaky!" Harry called out. Before her parents could object, he took her by the hand and led her past Madam Malkin's. 

"Where are we—"

"We need to get you a broom," Harry said, dragging her towards Quality Quidditch Supplies. "And you need new gear."

"You can't just buy me a broom," Ginny objected. 

"I can," Harry said, hefting a money pouch that clinked and jingled. "I'm the 'Master of the Ancient and Noble House of Black' again," he said imperiously, his nose turned up playfully. "And—apparently—now that I'm of age I have access to that and all of the full Potter vault."

"I understand the mechanics, Harry," Ginny wheeled around and stopped him in his tracks with her hand on his chest. "I'm saying you shouldn't."

"You're my girlfriend and I—" Harry cut himself off, looking both startled and suddenly wary of the people around him. 

Say it, Ginny urged silently, hoping he'd hear her thoughts. But she knew better. Harry wasn't one for big, public declarations—outside of defeating dark wizards.

"I…I'm invested in your future," he finished lamely. Ginny felt strangely defeated, and Harry seemed to sense it. "I'm not going to go crazy with it." He gripped her shoulders assuringly. "But you need a good broom. You want to play professionally. And we've been together…how long?"

"That's a complicated question," Ginny muttered.

"Well, in all our time together, I haven't gotten you a single gift."

"Harry, a broom is—" she began, but he cut her off.

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm getting one for myself, too," he added quickly, his earnest tone softening the sharpness of her protest.

Ginny pressed her lips together, her mind racing. Of course, she wanted a new broom—her old one had been battered and barely serviceable even before the war. Hell, the school brooms were in better shape. But the thought of Harry buying her one, of him paying for all her Quidditch gear, made something twist uncomfortably in her chest. It wasn't about pride, exactly. Or maybe it was, in part. But it was more than that.

"Mum and Dad will flip," she said instead, trying to deflect.

"Your dad said I could," Harry replied with a confidence that should have been irritating but wasn't.

"He said you could help with the essentials," she countered, crossing her arms.

"What's more essential than a good Quidditch broom?" Harry grinned, his green eyes sparkling in that way that always made her stomach flip.

"I—" Ginny stammered. He had a fantastic point, and she hated it. But that uncomfortable knot in her chest tightened. Why was she fighting him so adamantly? She loved Harry—in a way that just putting those three words together in her head made her heart flutter—and she trusted him—but this felt…uneven.

Was it because he didn't just want to buy her a broom? He could . Just like that. A few galleons—a few hundred galleons—from his vault wouldn't even make a dent in what he had, while she couldn't dream of buying something like that for herself. She wasn't used to this imbalance, to the idea that he could give her things she couldn't hope to match. It wasn't Harry's fault—it wasn't like he flaunted his wealth—but it still unsettled her. She'd always valued her independence, always fought to hold her own in a family of seven children, where hand-me-downs were the norm—and more than that, perfectly acceptable. Letting Harry buy her something as personal and significant as a broom felt…strange.

There was the unspoken fear that if she let him do this, if she leaned on him too much, she might start to lose herself in the process. Would people look at her and think she'd only made it as far as she had because of Harry?

"Why are you hesitating?" Harry asked gently, his brow furrowing.

Ginny blinked, realizing she'd been quiet too long. She bit her lip, unsure how to put all those tangled feelings into words. Instead, she forced a small smile. "Because you're impossible to argue with."

Harry chuckled, clearly relieved, and he led the way into Quality Quidditch Supplies. But Ginny's heart still felt heavy, and she knew this wasn't just about a broom. 

"I'm getting one for myself, too," he said again, browsing through a display of gloves. 

"Oh, so now my gift isn't special?" Ginny teased with a mocking frown. She began looking through a row of protective pads.

"For someone who says I'm impossible to argue with you sure do seem to love trying," Harry teased back. 

She forced a wry smile. It wasn't teasing him that she loved.

"Try these on," Harry tossed her a pair of gloves from two displays over.

Ginny caught the gloves mid-air, her reflexes sharp as ever, and turned them over in her hands. There was a faint shimmer that immediately caught her eye, its silvery-grey surface glinting softly. The material felt soft but strong beneath her fingertips, molding slightly as though it already knew her touch. She raised an eyebrow, impressed despite herself, and a slow grin spread across her face as she slipped one onto her hand.

"Mooncalf leather. They're supposed to be really good for Seekers and Chasers," Harry explained. He had another larger pair on his hands. "I'd always wanted a pair."

"Maybe for Seekers," Ginny said, removing her hand from the glove and bringing it back over. "But Mooncalf leather is too fragile for Chasers, too much handling of the Quaffle. And then they require too much continued treatment."

"Huh," Harry muttered thoughtfully. "I hadn't thought of that."

Ginny grabbed a pair of regular leather gloves and a set of protective pads; the same kind that she and ninety-nine percent of the school—Harry included—had worn in every match before, and handed them to Harry. If he was insisting on buying her things, he'd have to carry them, too.

"I'm not going to pull a Malfoy and show up with all the fancy bells and whistles," Ginny said firmly, sensing his objection. "This is school Quidditch. I'm going to treat it seriously . Not as a chance to play dress-up." 

He stammered momentarily,  "Ginny, I didn't mean to—" 

"I know you didn't," she cut him off, stunned by the hurt and worry in his eyes. Still so cautious. "And I'm not saying you were. I just wanted to make sure we were both on the same page." She chewed her lip, thoughtfully. "Because I think we are." She held his gaze and tried to get him to hear what she was really saying.

"Oh, right." He nodded, still half-stunned. He glanced around at the display of broomsticks. "Let's get some brooms, yeah?"

Ginny smiled a tight-lipped smile and nodded as well. She joined him at the display. "If you're thinking—"

"I'm not buying you a Firebolt," he said, glancing over the various models. "I don't even see one in here."

"Probably hid them away with all the shit going on this past year," Ginny muttered. She lingered on the Cleensweep Eleven model. Her parents had bought one for Ron when he was made prefect. She'd been insanely jealous at the time. "There's probably a vault in Gringotts somewhere with Firebolts stacked floor-to-ceiling." Harry snorted. "What are you thinking of getting?"

"The Nimbus 2001 is probably the best broom here right now, but even the 2000 is more broom than I really need if I'm just playing at the Burrow," Harry muttered thoughtfully. There was a look of distaste on his face. "And…"

"Wouldn't want to fly anything Malfoy felt was good," Ginny finished, chuckling at his look of surprise. "I know you, Potter." 

"Yeah," Harry muttered, staring at her thoughtfully. "You do." 

Ginny grinned. "I bet there's an intramural league at the Ministry."

His eyes lit up. He nodded his head and turned back to the broomstick display, his eyes landing on the Nimbus 2000. "Played my first game of Quidditch on that." His brows drew together. "Caught that first Snitch."

The Snitch. The one Professor Dumbledore had hidden the Resurrection Stone in so that when the time came, Harry wouldn't be alone . Ginny had some complicated feelings for her old Headmaster—both of them, now that she thought of it—but the importance of that Snitch and that first game couldn't be overstated.

She heard the words in her head before Harry even said them aloud. She knew him that well.

"I'll need a Nimbus 2000," he said, calling the sales wizard over. Lumos seemed to light in his eyes, and he held up two fingers. "Two of them, actually." 

The sales wizard raised an eyebrow.

"Harry!" Ginny protested. That broom was a lot more expensive than she was planning to let him spend on her. "I don't—"

"Harry Potter," the sales wizard gasped in a whisper, and stared at Harry like he was seeing him for the first time. "Sir, of course, I'm sorry, I—"

Harry interrupted the sales wizard. "I'm not letting you talk your way out of this, Gin," he said with a lopsided grin and a flash of mischief in his green eyes. "You said you were a better Seeker than me. So we're going to see if you can put your money where your mouth is." 

Ginny opened her mouth to object, but the gauntlet had been thrown down. If she objected—really put her foot down and told him 'no' he'd have ammunition to tease her with for years. And he'd challenged her ability. Merlin, he knew her well, too.

Ginny huffed. "Fine. But you have to justify it to Mum and Dad when they inevitably corner me and ask me how I could possibly let you buy me a Nimbus 2000." She threw her hands up, caught somewhere between frustration and fondness.

The sales wizard managed to get over his shock and check them out. They'd grabbed a set of gloves and a broomstick servicing kit for each of them along with a set of practice balls. Despite the sales wizard's insistence otherwise, Harry paid full price, and exchanged a larger stack of galleons than Ginny had ever seen in a single transaction. 

The wizard gave a flick of his wand, and a long, protective sheath made of shimmering, enchanted fabric materialized in mid-air. It floated gently over each of the broomsticks, snugly wrapping itself around the polished handle and bristle tail. The fabric shimmered faintly, enchanted to ward off scratches, dirt, and water. With another precise wave, the broomstick hovered momentarily before tucking itself into a sleek carrying case. The clerk handed the case to Harry with a smile.

"Potter up by one," Harry teased, grabbing their things and leading the way out of the store. 

"No!" Ginny shouted. "Up? No way. I knew the thing with the gloves."

Harry shook his head. "That was small stuff. Not point-worthy."

"Not point-worthy?" she shrieked in mock outrage.

"I don't make the rules," Harry pointed out. Ginny sputtered. "Potter up by one."

"No. Definitely not," Ginny said. "'Potter up'? No way. What about the thing from the other night?" She flashed a mischievous grin.

"What thing—oh ," Harry's mouth hung open and his cheeks colored. "Damn. Then…Weasley up by one." Ginny laughed and pumped her fist. But Harry seemed to jump. "Wait, no. What about the night before that?"

Ginny frowned playfully. "I was hoping you'd forget."

"I'm never going to forget that, Gin," Harry said, staring at her pointedly. "I've filed that one away for safekeeping." Ginny felt her face heating up. She must have been burning red because Harry's stare became a triumphant grin. "Potter up by one again."

"Tie game," Ginny said measuredly, trying to control her blush. Harry looked like he was going to object, but Ginny fixed him with a harder look. "Tie. Game."

Harry gave her a wry grin and an appraising look. He nodded. "Tie Game. We'll settle this on the Quidditch pitch, Weasley."

"You're on, Potter," she grinned back. 

They headed back towards the Leaky Cauldron, rather than Malkin's, figuring it would be less cramped than the small shop while they waited for the rest. Harry slowed, staring at Janus Galloglass magical mirror shop. A thoughtful look crossed his face for a moment, but he shook it off with a frown and allowed Ginny to lead him into the pub.

The Leaky Cauldron was quieter than usual, the low murmur of hushed conversations filling the air in place of its typical bustling atmosphere. As they entered, the patrons' eyes flicked to them, and the room seemed to hold its breath for a moment. The reverence in their gazes was unmistakable—faint nods and whispers laced with awe and celebrity worship. Ginny could feel it too: the weight of being in the shadow of the one who had defeated Voldemort, whose name was on the tip of every tongue.

Harry, ever modest, didn't seem to revel in the stares. His face set in a tight, uncomfortable smile and he offered a small, awkward wave. Ginny smiled slightly, stepping closer to him to offer some silent comfort as they made their way through the room. They found a corner near the fireplace and settled into a small, round table, waiting for the rest of the Weasleys to arrive. As they sat, a voice broke through the quiet hum of the inn.

"Ginny! Harry!" Demelza Robins called, her voice warm and friendly. Demelza was one of their Quidditch teammates and Ginny's closest friend at school. They'd become a force on the Quidditch pitch, so in-sync it was almost scary. Ginny didn't know if any three Chasers at Hogwarts could be favorably compared to the synergy of the Angelina-Alicia-Katie trio, but Katie herself had said she wouldn't want to play Ginny and Demelza in two-a-side Quidditch regardless of who she was partnered with.

It had been far too long since Ginny had seen her in a setting that wasn't shadowed by grief or loss. Funerals didn't exactly lend themselves to catching up, and their brief conversations had been reduced to murmured apologies and hollow reassurances. Seeing Demelza now, looking relaxed and decidedly more at ease in dark jeans and a purple Pride of Portree t-shirt, was a breath of fresh air.

A tall boy trailed behind Demelza, mirroring her nimble movements through the crowd. He had long, sandy-blonde hair and pale eyes, and though Ginny didn't recognize him immediately, there was something familiar about his face.

Demelza greeted Ginny with a tight, one-armed hug, expertly managing not to spill the butterbeers. She did the same to Harry, who started at the sudden embrace before patting her back awkwardly. Ginny rolled her eyes.

"I'm so glad I ran into you two!" she exclaimed. She gestured to the boy beside her. "Do you mind if we join you? Here," she shoved the butterbeers in front of Harry and Ginny then shouted to Tom the barman for two more. 

"Of course," Ginny scooted closer to Harry to make room for the two.

"You remember—"

"Maddox Brightley," Ginny blurted out, recognition dawning. "You're—giant!" She hadn't seen him in over two years, since the end of her fourth year, and he must have grown almost a foot in that time.

Maddox flushed and grinned. "Yeah, I suppose," he said. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, but Ginny thought she saw him trying to flex his biceps as he did. "Late growth spurt, I guess."

"You were gone the last two years," Ginny said. She raised her glass to Demelza in a toast and took a sip of her butterbeer. 

"Yeah," Maddox said, his grin fading. "After everyone saw You-Know-Who come back, my parents sent me to stay with family in America. And they kept me there after Professor Dumbledore was killed. I did my fifth and sixth years at Ilvermorny."

"You can do that?" Harry asked.

Maddox shifted uncomfortably, and he seemed to withdraw into himself. "Not usually," he admitted, staring down into his butterbeer. "It was a…unique few years. Exceptions were made. Anyway, the term there ended last week, so I just got back. And I—" He shook his head and gave Ginny a hard look. "I'm not exactly proud that I let my parents send me off, but I was only fourteen and they weren't hearing arguments." 

Ginny nodded, understanding all too well how overprotective parents could be.

Maddox shifted uncomfortably. "I'm sorry about your brother," he said quietly. "George, right?"

"Fred," Ginny corrected sharply.

"Right. Sorry." Maddox frowned, looking away, and an uncomfortable silence settled over the group. Harry gave Ginny's hand a reassuring squeeze under the table, and she shot Demelza a pleading look.

"So! Broomstick shopping?" Demelza offered in a very transparent—but appreciated—attempt to change the subject. She gestured to the packaged broomsticks set against the wall behind them. "What'd you get?"

Harry opened his mouth to speak but Ginny cut him off. "You'll see on the pitch—or if you stop by the Burrow for practice," Ginny replied, recovering quickly.

"Really?" Demelza asked, her eyes lighting up. "Open invitation?"

"Anytime," Ginny confirmed with a grin. "We can run some drills."

"Yes!" Demelza said, clapping her hands together. "Are you both coming back next year?"

"I am," Ginny said quickly, surprising herself by how natural the answer felt. "Harry is…" she trailed off and looked at him, nodding expectantly. 

"I'm starting Auror training," Harry said, his voice steady. Demelza whistled appreciatively and Ginny gave his hand a proud squeeze.

"Bloody hell," Maddox muttered, though he didn't sound as impressed as Ginny would have liked.

"He actually met with Kingsley and Gawain Robards this morning," Ginny said, nudging Harry with her shoulder. 

"Shacklebolt?" Maddox said. He glanced back and forth between them. "You're on a first name basis with the Minister?" Ginny grinned up at Harry. "Pays to be Harry Potter, I suppose."

"Kingley's been friends with my family for a while," Ginny pointed out. She could feel the heat creeping up her neck. Maddox hadn't been this… snotty before, had he? Though, to be fair, she hadn't spent all that much time with him. "We all got to know each other really well fighting Voldemort."

She did her best not to feel victorious as Maddox flinched at the name.

"Sorry, I didn't mean it the way it sounded," Maddox tried to assure them.

"Well if Harry's not coming back next year that means you're a shoe-in for Captain!" Demelza exclaimed abruptly, changing the subject once again. Ginny smiled at her thankfully. "We're going to win it all this year."

"We need to find a new Seeker, new Chaser, and probably a new Keeper, too," Ginny said, counting off the positions on her fingers. 

"I played Chaser for Pukwudgie," Maddox offered eagerly, eyes lighting up. "We won the Ilvermorny Quidditch Cup last year. I'm pretty good."

"We'll have to see at tryouts," Ginny said, hiding a grimace while taking another drink. Maddox was a bit off-putting, but he didn't deserve the full Ginny wrath. "Dee and I are picky."

"I could swing by sometime with Demelza," Maddox offered. "We could run some drills. Really get used to working together." He leaned over excitedly. "I'm a really flexible player. I think you'll both be surprised." 

"Well…" Ginny was at a loss for words. She'd wanted time with Demelza. "The eh…wards around the property are pretty complex. Dad and Bill put them up. They're complicated to change." She stumbled into her answer. "Only family and a few others—you know, Harry, Hermione, Kingsley—can get through right now."

"Oh, Harry, are you there often?" Maddox asked, his voice politely formal. 

"I've been staying with Ginny's family since the battle," Harry nodded. Ginny noted Maddox's split-second look of bewilderment. "Hermione, too."

"Though she and Ron are going to Australia to get her parents sometime before the start of term," Ginny said, glancing past their table to scan the crowd for her family. None had arrived yet.

"Are you going?" Demelza asked, turning to Harry, who shook his head. 

Maddox hummed thoughtfully. "Wow…that must be a first for you three."

Demelza turned to Ginny. "Are they together? I saw them together at…well…but I figured that might be just a comfort thing."

"They're together," Harry confirmed with a nod and a fond smile. "Happened during the battle."

"Let me guess," Demelza began, dropping her voice into a comically deep octave. "Ron said, 'Hermione, we might not make it out of this alive. I bloody fancy you. Kiss me!'" 

"Hermione kissed him," Harry said, smirking

"No. Really?" Demelza goggled. "Go, Hermione." She paused, looking thoughtful. "Have you walked in on them starkers yet?"

"Not fully," Harry mumbled under his breath. Ginny whipped around to face him, her eyes wide. He hadn't mentioned that before.

"Oh, do tell!" Demelza leaned in, clearly relishing the gossip. It had been a long year, after all, and most of their "gossip" had revolved around tragedy.

Ginny watched Maddox shift awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable with being out of the general loop.

"I am taking that with me to the grave," Harry said grimly. 

"Spoilsport," Demelza muttered teasingly. Harry just shrugged, but Ginny was glad to see him relaxing a bit more around her friend. "So they're going to be alone, just the two of them, on the other side of the world…for how long?"

Harry shrugged and shook his head.

"Wow," Demelza said. She fixed Ginny and Harry with a playful look. "Jealous?"

"Yeah," Ginny said without thinking.

"It's complicated," Harry said at the same time. His gaze darted to hers and his brow furrowed curiously. Ginny couldn't stop the blush that crept across her cheeks. He grinned, his eyes glinting. "But yeah. A little jealous, too."

"I'm sure you two industrious kids will manage just fine," Demelza teased knowingly. "Still, I don't think anyone has seen one of you without the other two for more than…a few hours?" 

"Last time I was without either of them for more than that was…" Harry thought for a moment. "Last summer. Before I left my aunt and uncle's."

"Being apart must feel like missing a limb," Maddox said. 

"Or your wand hand," Demelza warned, biting her lip. Ginny braced herself. "Don't worry though, I'm sure Ginny can lend you one of hers if you ask nicely."

Harry sputtered, coughing as he choked on his butterbeer. Ginny only nearly choked on her drink. Her eyes darted to Demelza, whose smirk was all mischief. "Demelza!" she gasped, though she couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up in spite of herself.

"What?" Demelza said innocently, though the mischievous glint in her eyes betrayed her. "You've got the Chosen One under your roof, sharing meals, lounging around together, going for long sunset strolls. Sounds terribly romantic."

Ginny shot her a look, her cheeks flushing an even deeper shade of red. Harry, for his part, looked caught between amusement and a desire for the floor to swallow him whole. He was still new to the teasing from her friends. 

"I have two parents and three older brothers still around the house," Ginny countered.

"Yeah, but for the rest of the summer?" Demelza asked. Ginny had to admit, she hadn't considered her brothers' plans yet. "Besides, everyone knows how…what's the word, Maddox?" she turned to the boy, who looked like an owl caught in wandlight. "Inventive, right? You're both inventive when it comes to trouble."

Ginny fixed Demelza with a tight-lipped warning smile and glanced quickly back and forth from her to Harry, hoping her friend would get the message. 

"Fine. I won't ask for details until we're back at the dorms."

Harry shot Ginny a bewildered look. She shrugged helplessly. "I won't say a word about the new tattoo." He looked befuddled for a moment, but then a grin cut itself across his face and he busied himself with his butterbeer again.

"So, you're really not going back next year?" Maddox said suddenly, his eyes on Harry. "You're really going to be an Auror instead?"

"Yeah," Harry answered, nodding, his tone steady but thoughtful. "Can't exactly stay in Hogwarts forever, can I? Especially if this was what I was going to try working towards anyway."

Maddox's eyes flicked between Harry and Ginny, his expression unreadable but tinged with something like skepticism.

"Right, right. Well, that's great for you, Harry," Maddox said, his voice smoothing over the slight awkwardness. "But...you won't be around next year then, will you? I mean, I guess that'll be hard, yeah? With Ginny staying at Hogwarts…" He trailed off, his words not quite as polite as they had been.

"I think we'll manage," Ginny replied coolly, fixing Maddox with a look that left no room for doubt. "Like Dee said, we're inventive . There's owls, Hogsmeade weekends. We were apart all of last year while Harry was off…" she paused, glancing at Harry. They hadn't yet talked about how to explain what he'd been doing.

"Figuring out how to stop him," Harry supplied carefully. 

Ginny nodded. "Don't worry about us." 

"Right. Sorry. I didn't mean it like that," Maddox muttered, though it was hard to ignore the way his enthusiasm dimmed a little.

"I'm also hoping to make it up for as many of the Gryffindor Quidditch games as I can," Harry said. Ginny perked up; he hadn't mentioned that before. "So you two better bring it."

"Aye aye, Captain Potter, Sir!" Demelza saluted. Harry chuckled, but Ginny just gave Demelza a look of mock betrayal. "Sorry, Ginny, he's still Captain until you get the badge."

Harry gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Sorry, Gin." He turned to Demelza and Maddox. "Enough about us, though. What were you two up to before we walked it?"

"Oh, Maddox actually asked to meet up to talk Quidditch tryouts," Demelza said. She turned to Maddox expectantly. "Well, you've got the former—and soon-to-be—Captains right here. Ask away."

"Oh, uh," Maddox stammered, clearly caught off guard. "I guess…what's the most important thing you look for at tryouts?"

"Attitude," Ginny answered.

"If you're actually in Gryffindor," Harry deadpanned. 

"I forgot about that," Ginny mused with mock thoughtfulness. "That is important. But since we know Maddox is in Gryffindor…" She caught the playful curl of Harry's lips and cut him off before he could continue. "And we know he knows how to play because he played last year."

Harry snapped his jaw shut, but his grin didn't fade. He nodded. "Attitude is definitely important: don't be Cormac McLaggen," he added with a pointed look. To his credit, Maddox visibly grimaced. "Also, whether you can be cohesive with the group. We had some decent Beaters try out, but Jimmy and Ritchie really stood out because they worked well together—even during tryouts."

"Great! Thanks, Harry," Maddox said, his enthusiasm sounding just a bit forced. Standing abruptly, he added, "I appreciate you guys letting me pick your brain. I'll let you catch up. Enjoy the rest of your summer, Harry. See you at school, Dee, Gin."

Ginny's expression soured slightly. "Ginny," she corrected, catching him off guard.

"Sorry?" Maddox asked, his eyes wide.

"Most people call me Ginny," she said evenly.

"Oh, I just…" He glanced nervously between her and Harry, and comprehension seemed to dawn. His neck flushed red, and at least he had the decency to look mortified. "Sorry, Ginny. See you at school."

Demelza watched him leave with a half-grimace. "Soooorry," she drawled, giving Ginny a reproachful look. "That was weird."

"I can't even tell anymore," Harry said with a shrug. He wasn't being entirely truthful—Ginny could tell—but at least he was helping Demelza feel better. "Still…if he played all last year he'll probably be in pretty good shape for tryouts. Don't write him off just because he's awkward and fancies you, Gin."

"Ugh. What?" Ginny goggled. "He doesn't."

Demelza gave her an unimpressed look. 

"I know exactly what it looks like to fancy Ginny Weasley," Harry said knowingly. Across from him, Demelza nodded sagely. 

Before Ginny could respond, she spotted a familiar group entering the pub, their chatter rising above the general noise. Her heart gave a little flutter as she spotted Bill leading the way, followed by Ron, Hermione, and their parents.

"There they are," Ginny said, standing up and waving energetically.

Demelza followed her gaze and immediately sprang to her feet. "Oh, I've gotta say hi to your mum before I go," Ginny tried to object but Demelza shrugged. "Mum will start to worry if I'm out too long without checking in. You know how it is." She really did. "But I'll stop by soon to run some plays."

"Bet on it," Ginny said. She smiled as she watched Demelza hurry over to the Weasley matriarch, who was smiling and already holding her arms out for a welcoming hug. Demelza shook hands with Dad then gave Ron a friendly fist-bump before leaving.

Within moments, her parents, Bill, Ron, and Hermione had made their way over to the table, joining Ginny and Harry with big smiles.

"Hey, mate," Ron muttered. He pulled a chair over for Hermione and sat down on the other side of Harry. He did a quick double-take. "New brooms!?"

"No Quidditch talk until we get some food," Mum declared. And that ended the conversation before it started.

"Hope you weren't waiting long," Dad said, eyes pausing very briefly on the brooms.

Hermione, looking a little out of sorts, took her seat. "We didn't miss anything important, did we?"

Ginny shook her head, eyes twinkling. "Nope, just a lot of gossip and awkwardness."

"Harry and awkwardness I get, but gossip?" Ron teased, elbowing Harry in the ribs.

Harry mock glared at her brother, rubbing his ribs dramatically. "Apparently I'm a natural," he deadpanned.

Bill snorted.

"Did you get everything you need?" Ginny asked.

"I think so," Hermione said quickly. Her eyes darted around the room, clearly not quite comfortable with being around so many unfamiliar people after their time on the run, nor being the center of so much attention…or maybe just stressed from the day. "But I'm certain we're forgetting something."

"Come now, we've gone over your list five times already," Mum said placatingly. She patted Hermione on the arm.

"Besides, you'll be able to get anything unexpected you might need while you're there," Dad added.

"When do you leave?" Harry asked. Ginny caught the note of trepidation in his voice.

Hermione hesitated, so Ron supplied, "June first." He took one of Hermione's hands. "Thought about trying to get a portkey sooner—or later, because of," he gave Harry a pointed look and grimaced. 

Harry nodded. Ginny resolved to ask him about it when they had a moment alone.

"But it took a bit of work to get this one approved by the Australian Ministry," Ron continued, barreling ahead.

"That's soon," Harry said. 

Ron nodded. "Yeah. You'll be alright?" Ginny's heart softened. Despite being a prat, her brother was a great friend.

Harry shot Ginny a knowing look. She could see him bite the inside of his lip to keep from laughing, but he couldn't stop the grin from forming on his face.

She found an identical one forming on her own.

"I'll figure it out," Harry said.

They returned to the Burrow after their outing laden with broomsticks, Quidditch gear, and essentials for Ron and Hermione's trip to Australia. Everyone was tired that evening. Bill sat at the table with his shoulders slumped, one hand absently rubbing the scarred side of his face while Fleur, uncharacteristically quiet, toyed with her fork, her usual sharp wit absent as she picked at her plate. Charlie yawned more than once, his eyes heavy-lidded from his long journey and the emotional toll of the day. Percy had tried to engage Mr. Weasley in a discussion about the latest Ministry legislation they'd overheard, but his words lacked their usual crispness, and halfway through a sentence, he gave up, sighing and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Ron leaned back in his chair, his eyes half-closed as he idly drummed his fingers against the table, his appetite finally sated. Hermione sat next to him, her head propped on her hand, the conversation swirling around her barely drawing her attention as she stared blankly into the middle distance. Mrs. Weasley tried valiantly to keep the mood light, but her voice was softer than usual, and her laughter when it came was tinged with weariness. Even Mr. Weasley, typically so animated at the dinner table, seemed content to simply sit and listen, his hand resting reassuringly over his wife's.

When the meal was finally finished, no one lingered long. Plates were cleared with half-hearted murmurs of thanks, and the family dispersed throughout the house, seeking solace in quiet corners or the comfort of their rooms. Harry and Ginny stayed behind to help Mrs. Weasley tidy up, but even their small talk fell away into a comfortable silence.

Once the cleanup was done, Harry and Ginny wandered outside toward the pond. The lingering spring evening stretched the day longer, casting the sky in swirls of purple and orange. Harry found himself watching Ginny more than the sunset—caught by the way her hair shimmered in the fading light, the way her eyes narrowed against the glow of the sun, and the way her freckles bunched together when she laughed.

They sat on the weathered wooden dock by the pond, the boards creaking faintly beneath them. Ginny was beside him, her feet skimming the water as the orange and purples of the sunset faded across the sky. The quiet hum of frogs and crickets filled the air, punctuated by the soft ripple of the pond whenever she moved her toes.

For the first time in what felt like ages, Harry felt like both of his feet were firmly beneath him.

And it was because of her.

"Today was good," he said, breaking the silence as they sat on the little pond dock. He turned to face her and met her questioning gaze. "Seeing Demelza and…well Maddox was kind of a git, but everything else…" He hesitated, glancing down at the rippling water before meeting her gaze. "Hearing you talk about me, about us like that—it meant a lot, Ginny. You made it sound so easy, so sure. Like you never doubted it for a second."

"I haven't," she said simply. Her confidence made his chest tighten.

Harry exhaled deeply, letting the words tumble out before he could stop them. "No one's ever talked about me like that before," he admitted. 

Ginny tilted her head, her brow furrowing. "What do you mean?"

There was a look in her eyes that told him she knew exactly what he'd meant: she just wanted to hear more. 

Harry swallowed, glancing out at the water before meeting her eyes again. "Like I mattered. Not because of who I'm supposed to be or what I've done. Just because I'm me." His voice dropped to almost a whisper. "That's not something I've ever had before."

Ginny leaned toward him. "You've always mattered, Harry."

He let out a shaky laugh, running a hand through his hair. "Not like that . Sirius cared about me—I know he did—but he never really saw me . He saw James's son, this connection to the past he'd lost. And he was…he was in so much pain himself. I don't think he ever got past that. Maybe if we'd had more time…"

Ginny nodded, her lips pressing into a thin line, and Harry's heart ached at the sight of those shimmering brown eyes.

"But you," he said, his voice thick, "you see me. You don't expect me to be anything I'm not."

Ginny shifted closer, her knee brushing against his. She reached for his hand, lacing her fingers through his. "You don't need to be anything more than you already are, Harry," she said, her voice firm and unwavering.

"You make me want to be," Harry said. The lump in his throat grew, but he didn't look away this time. "I've been scared—worried about saying this for all the wrong reasons. But I need you to know." 

He swallowed hard. "I love you, Gin."

Her eyes widened briefly, and she smiled—a radiant, heart-stopping smile. And then she was reaching up to cup his face, pulling him into a kiss so fierce it left him breathless. Her hands slid into his hair, her touch anchoring him as every part of him seemed to dissolve into her.

When they finally broke apart, she was smiling, her cheeks flushed. "I love you, Harry."

He froze, his heart hammering in his chest. "Really?"

Ginny let out a soft laugh, her thumb brushing against his cheek. "Head over bloody fucking heels."

Harry couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up, but it faltered when his eyes began to sting. "Say it again?" he asked, his voice cracking.

"I love you, Harry."

The words hit him like a wave, crashing through every barrier he hadn't realized he'd built. His eyes burned. He blinked rapidly, but a tear escaped anyway. Ginny pulled him into her arms, holding him tightly as he clung to her, his face buried in her shoulder.

After a moment, she drew back slightly, her fingers trailing along his jaw. Her eyes searched his face. "You know," she said, her voice teasing but fond, "when I was little, I fancied 'The Boy Who Lived' long before I met you. It was ridiculous—like falling for a fairy tale. Then I actually met you, and there you were: this very real, brave, loyal, kind, awkward twelve-year-old boy eating in my kitchen."

Harry let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head. "I wasn't that bad."

"You were, but we all know I was worse," Ginny said with a grin, but her expression softened. "But that same very real boy—flaws and all—saved me from the Basilisk, stood up for my family, fought for people who would never bother to thank him. That's when I realized something."

She cupped his face, her gaze steady and unwavering. "The people who only see you as 'Harry Potter' are missing out. Because Harry—just Harry—is so much more than 'Harry Potter' could ever be."

Harry couldn't speak, couldn't find the words to tell her what that meant to him. So instead, he kissed her, pouring everything he felt into it. Ginny met him with the same intensity, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, this was his to keep.

Chapter Text

May 20, 1998

Ginny and Harry hadn't told anyone about their conversation by the pond. Secrets were rare in the Burrow, where walls seemed to have ears and privacy was a precious commodity. But this—this felt too perfect, too new, to let it loose into the chaos just yet. It was hers and Harry's, and Ginny intended to keep it that way for as long as she could. She had never felt more girly; never felt more lovestruck— actually lovestruck. But she'd also never felt stronger, never felt more in control of her own life, than she had when she woke up the next morning. 

The words "He loves me," threatened to burst out of her chest, but the sun had barely risen, and shouting it for the whole house to hear wasn't exactly the subtle announcement she wanted. So she settled for lying in bed, grinning at the ceiling like an idiot, and waiting for Harry to wake up.

Hermione and Ron had been too tired that night for their usual room-swap; she had been fast asleep by the time Ginny and Harry had returned from their trip to the pond, and she assumed the same had been true for Ron. It was a minor disappointment, but for once, she didn't mind. It was fine. Not just Harry-fine, but really, truly fine. Because he loved her.

Merlin, she sounded insane, even (or especially) in her own head. But she didn't care. For the first time in months it felt like there was solid ground beneath her feet. There was a future ahead of her; she knew what she wanted, she knew what she had to do to get it, and she had someone to share that with, someone who thought those things about her were brilliant.

Ginny couldn't stop smiling as the morning went on, her cheeks aching from the grin she couldn't seem to wipe away. Her mother gave her a curious look over breakfast, but Ginny deflected with a mumbled excuse about pleasant dreams. It wasn't a lie, really—her dreams had been pleasant, though they had less to do with surreal imaginings and more to do with the memory of Harry pressed against her and the quiet certainty in his voice when he'd said he loved her.

A few days passed in this unspoken agreement to keep things between them. The secret felt sacred, a little flame they could nurture together without the rest of the world intruding. It wasn't until Demelza showed up, broom in hand, ready for an impromptu Quidditch practice, that Ginny's attention shifted though her heart still thrummed with quiet happiness as she joined her on the pitch.

Demelza tossed her bag down beside Ginny's and gave an exaggerated whistle when she spotted the new broom. "All right, what have we got here?" she demanded, gesturing as though Ginny's Nimbus 2000 were a dangerous creature.

Ginny hesitated, handing over the broom reluctantly. "It's a Nimbus 2000," she mumbled.

"A Nimbus 2000?" Demelza practically shrieked, almost dropping the broom. "And don't tell me you saved up for this with your meager pocket money!"

Ginny flushed. "Harry got it for me. It's—"

"—a bloody expensive gift from your boyfriend," Demelza interrupted, her hands flying to her hips. "Merlin's left nut, Ginny, did he rob Gringotts? Oh, wait…" Her eyes widened in mock realization. "He did break into Gringotts, didn't he?"

"Oh, stop." Ginny glared at her, grabbing the broom and holding it close to her chest. "I didn't ask him for it, all right? He insisted."

"Of course he insisted!" Demelza snorted. "Harry Potter wouldn't know a subtle gesture if it danced naked in front of him holding a banner that said 'Keep it Simple.'" Ginny chuckled and tossed the Quaffle at Demelza, who caught it in one hand and smirked. "Though if you want to try that for his birthday feel free to credit me when you do. Who knows, maybe he'll be so thankful he gets me a broom, too."

"Dee!" Ginny hissed, glancing around hurriedly, her cheeks flushing.

"Fine, fine, I won't ruin your surprise." Demelza shrugged. She leaned in, her expression softening slightly. "Seriously, I know you. Does it bother you? Him buying you something like this?"

Ginny hesitated, clutching the broom tighter. "A little," she admitted. "It's just…he would've got me a Firebolt if I hadn't stopped him. Even then, maybe only because they didn't have any. I don't want him thinking he has to take care of me like that, you know? Like I can't get my own things. Or people giving him shit that I'm only with him because he's Harry Potter ."

Demelza nodded sagely, then smirked. "Good thing you're the best flyer I've ever seen, then. If anyone gives you grief, you can hex them from midair and fly circles around them with your fancy new broom."

Ginny couldn't help but laugh, shaking her head. "You're impossible."

"And you're stuck with me," Demelza quipped, grabbing her own broom. "But seriously, if he starts buying you Golden Snitches for breakfast, you tell me, all right? We'll stage an intervention."

"He just…He wanted to get me something nice."

Demelza's eyebrows shot up. "Nice? This isn't just nice, Ginny. We're talking 'I feel guilty even touching this' kind of nice, 'declaration of undying love' kind of nice."

Ginny's grin widened. 

"What?" Demelza goggled. "Already?"

"What do you mean, 'already?'" Ginny frowned. 

"Didn't you just get back together? You were apart all last year," Demelza pointed out. "You told everyone you'd broken it off."

Ginny shrugged. "Not because we wanted to." She began getting on her new gloves and flexing them, trying to get them to soften up before they started practicing. "It's not like we were snogging other people while we were apart."

"Not for their lack of trying," Demelza pointed out. 

Ginny snorted. The Hogwarts rumor mill had worked overtime after she had returned last year having broken up with Harry. The Gryffindors had—with a few exceptions—seen through and supported the ruse. But that didn't stop a few determined boys from trying their luck, often under the guise of "helping convince the Carrows" or "throwing off their suspicions."

There were days early on in the term where she'd been looking for ways to be more proactive and support what Harry was doing, when she'd briefly—very briefly—considered it, at least for appearance's sake. But every time she'd given it more than a passing thought the idea had made her sick to her stomach, it felt like a massive betrayal, even if it was just for show.

Ginny finally settled on her answer. "That's because boys are dumb," she said.

"Yours excluded, I presume?"

"Mine isn't a boy," Ginny countered.

May 22, 1998

Harry braced through a sharp turn, rolling his broom to cut his turning radius. He leaned into the handle, slicing through the air as he arced toward the distant tree line. A sharp whistle from below caught his attention, and he glanced down to see Ron cupping his hands around his mouth.

"Head out!" Ron bellowed, gesturing emphatically toward the far end of the paddock.

Harry smirked, banking sharply to the left as Demelza streaked ahead, her movements sharp and fluid. She dove low, the tips of her trainers nearly brushing the grass, before rocketing upward in a tight spiral. Ginny, trailing just behind Harry, tilted her broom forward and surged ahead, intercepting Demelza's trajectory with a smooth, corkscrew roll that made Harry grin.

Ron, restless from days of trailing Hermione during trip preparations, had finally been sent off to join Harry, Ginny, and Demelza on the makeshift Quidditch pitch. Hermione had claimed she needed "just five minutes" of space, though Harry suspected it was more for Ron's sake than hers.

As the drills continued, Harry reacclimated to the feel of the Nimbus 2000. It lacked the explosive kick to its acceleration and pinpoint handling of the Firebolt, but it was still a joy to ride. Ginny, however, took to her new broom like she'd been flying it for years.

Growing up on older, less responsive brooms had honed her flying instincts to razor-sharp precision. Within minutes, she had mastered the Nimbus's quirks: its turning radius, how to account for wind resistance, and subtle adjustments to handle shifts in air pressure. Harry, who had often been praised for his natural talent, found himself in awe of Ginny's skill—hard-won through years of determination and practice.

He waved to Ginny, and they both descended toward Ron. Harry landed with a jolt, still adjusting to the Nimbus's braking, and wiped the sweat from his brow. They'd been running drills all afternoon, and his clothes clung to him uncomfortably.

"Bloody hell, that's a nice broom," Demelza said, dismounting at the edge of the pitch. "We're taking the Cup for sure."

Harry nodded, grinning. "Ginny's been outrunning Slytherins on school brooms for years. This'll be a breeze for her."

Ron took Ginny's broom for her, eyeing it longingly, before propping it over his shoulder and tucking the Quaffle under one arm. "I still don't get how Slytherin wasn't better," he said. "With all the fancy gear they've got…"

Ginny smirked. "Reckon they thought the brooms would do all the work for them."

Ron sighed, looking reluctant to call it a day. "You sure you don't want to practice a bit more? Feels like we're just warming up."

Harry shook his head. "We've got dinner plans with Mrs. Tonks—err, Andi," he corrected, still feeling awkward with the informality. "And we definitely need showers before we go."

"Shower together," Demelza suggested casually, wiping sweat from her brow.

"Demelza!" Ron sputtered, his ears turning red.

"What?" Demelza said with a shrug. "Saves on water and time."

"Not if you're doing it right," Ginny quipped without missing a beat.

"Ginny!" Ron groaned, looking pained. "For Merlin's sake, not while I'm standing right here!"

"Oh sure," Demelza teased, grinning as she swatted Ron on the backside with her broom. "Coming from the bloke who's about to head off on an unsupervised, round-the-world trip with his girlfriend."

"Oi!" Ron yelped, glaring at her, though his flushed face betrayed his embarrassment.

Ginny laughed, shaking her head. "Come on, Ron. You're not exactly the poster child for propriety these days."

Harry chuckled, shouldering his broom as they started toward the house. It was good to see Ron laugh, even if it was at his own expense.

"I think I'm being a great sport about my best mate sneaking down to your room every night for the last two weeks," Ron shot back, his voice dripping with mock indignation.

"What?" Demelza gasped, spinning around to face Ginny with wide eyes. "You didn't tell me that!"

Ginny rolled her eyes, clearly unfazed. "He wouldn't be half as generous about it if Hermione wasn't the one swapping places with Harry."

"That's beside the point," Ron muttered, his ears already turning pink.

"It really isn't," Harry said with a grin, unable to resist teasing.

Demelza's jaw dropped, and she jabbed her broom in Harry's direction. "Wait a minute—so it's true?"

"Not like that," Harry said quickly, though his sheepish smile betrayed him.

Ginny smirked, crossing her arms. "Not that it's any of your business, Dee, but yes. Occasionally."

"Occasionally!" Demelza clutched her chest in mock scandal, looking between the two of them like she'd just discovered some grand conspiracy. "This is the kind of thing you're supposed to share with your best friend, Ginny!"

"I'm sharing now," Ginny said dryly, clearly unbothered.

Ron groaned and covered his face with his hands. "Can we please not make this a group discussion?"

"Aw, come on, Ron," Demelza teased, grinning wickedly. "You brought it up!"

"Big mistake," Harry added under his breath, exchanging an amused glance with Ginny.

Ron let out an exaggerated sigh. "Merlin help me, I need better friends."

"You love us," Ginny said smugly, bumping him with her shoulder.

"Not right now, I don't," Ron grumbled, though his lips twitched like he was trying not to smile.

They walked Demelza to the edge of the Burrow's wards to see her off, but only after Ginny had wrung a promise from her to return within the week to continue their practice. As Demelza disappeared with a wave, Ron headed back inside to check on Hermione, while Harry and Ginny stayed behind to tend to the Quidditch balls and broomsticks with the servicing kit.

There wasn't much to do after only a few flights, but they took their time trimming any errant twigs and polishing the broom handles until they gleamed. Once satisfied, they stowed the brooms in their carrying cases and returned them to the broomshed before heading back to the house.

"My word, you two are filthy," Mrs. Weasley exclaimed lightly when they stopped by the kitchen for a glass of water. She glanced pointedly at their dirt-smeared faces and sweaty clothes. "I hope you're planning to clean up before you go to Mrs. Tonks's."

Ginny waited until Mrs. Weasley had turned back to preparing dinner for the rest of the house. "Yes, Mum," she said with a roll of her eyes. 

"Good. Bring those clothes down when you're done and set them with the laundry," Mrs. Weasley instructed. "I don't want them moldering in your rooms."

"Yes, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said politely, earning an approving nod from her.

"And make sure you dress properly," she added as they turned toward the stairs. "Mrs. Tonks may have been blasted off the Black family tree, but she was still raised with proper manners."

Harry nodded but bit back a retort. Andi hadn't struck him as remotely stuffy during any of their interactions. Sirius had called her his "favorite cousin," and she had raised the fiercely independent Tonks—hardly traits that aligned with the pure-blood elitism of someone like Narcissa Malfoy, sister or not.

Ginny headed for the shower first, leaving Harry to climb to his and Ron's room to find clean, presentable clothes. He was not at all prepared for what he walked in on: Ron, seated on the edge of his bed, holding Hermione tightly as she sobbed into his shoulder.

Harry froze, unsure whether to leave or offer help. He started to step forward, but Ron caught his eye and gave him a subtle, placating look. Harry hesitated, then stopped, lingering awkwardly in the doorway as Hermione's sobs quieted. She pulled back from Ron slightly, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her jumper, her face blotchy but determined.

Feeling awkward but unwilling to walk away entirely, Harry lingered in the doorway. Hermione wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her jumper and managed a small, apologetic smile when she noticed him. "Sorry," she mumbled, still sniffling. 

"Are you alright?" Harry asked, glancing between her and Ron.

Hermione nodded hesitantly, but her red-rimmed eyes told another story.

Ron gave him a tight-lipped smile. "Yeah," he said. "It's just a lot, you know?"

"I can only imagine," Harry admitted, glancing over the strewn-about room.

Harry stepped inside, taking in the state of the room. Ron's side looked as though a tornado had swept through it. Clothes, books, and random belongings were scattered everywhere. The contrast to Harry's neatly kept area was stark. Years of living with the Dursleys had ingrained in him the habit of keeping his belongings out of sight and in order, but it seemed Hermione's influence was the only reason Ron's chaos hadn't spilled over.

"Yeah sorry, mate," Ron muttered. He looked torn between rushing to clean up and staying with Hermione. "I'd started packing and then Hermione reminded me that it was winter in Australia now so I was packing all the wrong clothes." He ran a hand through his hair. "And I got all out of sorts because we'd just spent all that time and money in Diagon Alley on the wrong stuff."

Harry winced. "We can go back tomorrow—" 

"Nah, we're alright. Got it sorted," Ron waved him off. "Apparently Australia isn't quite as cold as it is in England and I'm worrying over nothing."

"And I'm worried that all of this is for nothing," Hermione moaned, her head dropping into her hands. "That we'll go there, spend weeks searching, and after all that time and money find nothing on my parents."

"If it's about the money—" Harry started.

Hermione cut him off. "And I'll have taken Ron away from his family, after everything they've been through—after everything he's been through."

"Harry and I already talked about it, 'Mione," Ron said, rubbing her back soothingly. Harry fought the urge to grin at the sound of the new nickname. "We've got it covered, right?" He glanced at Harry imploringly.

"But they—"

"I'll look after things here, Hermione," Harry said softly. He sat down on Ron's bed on the other side of her.

"Are you sure?" Hermione all but whispered.

"No one I trust more while we're gone," Ron said, pressing his forehead against hers. 

"After everything you've sacrificed for me, how could I possibly hold any of this against you?" Harry asked. He reached his arm around her shoulders to grip Ron's tightly. "None of us can move on until we all can, right?"

Hermione nodded mutely. "I just…I don't know where to begin," she whispered, fighting tears. "How to fix it…"

Ron made a strangled sound. Harry glanced over her shoulder at him and saw his best friend fighting back a grimace. "Well…" Ron began, scratching his neck awkwardly. He sighed loudly. "If this were any other problem there's only one place we'd start." 

Harry bit his lip to stop from smiling, but failed miserably. "The library," he said. 

Ron nodded, but Hermione shook her head vigorously. "Hogwarts is in no shape for—"

"Hermione, we just spent nine months hunting down Horcruxes so we could defeat Voldemort," Ron pointed out, shaking her shoulders gently. "I bet McGonagall would bring the library here if you asked nicely."

Hermione chewed her lip thoughtfully, but Harry could already see the gears working. "This isn't any different than what we've done for the past seven years," Harry said. "Just another problem, like Nicholas Flamel, the Chamber, Buckbeak's defense, or any of the thousand things you've found."

"We've got nine days to figure it out," Ron said. 

Harry stood and straightened, channeling his best Professor McGonagall. "I want a full three feet on how you plan to reverse the memory charm," he said.

Ron snorted, and even Hermione cracked a smile. "That is a dreadful impression of her, Harry," she said.

"Yeah, please don't tell her I did that," Harry muttered playfully. 

Hermione stood suddenly and straightened her clothes, her eyes fierce. "Right. Let's get to it."

"Well, 'Mione, it's a bit late to be going to Hogwarts today," Ron pointed out. He took her hand and pulled her back to sit on his bed. "Mum is expecting us for dinner."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, let's plan everything around your stomach, Ronald," she said, failing to hide her smirk. But she reached up and kissed him fiercely. "Thank you," she whispered, wrapping her arms around his chest.

She turned to Harry next and hugged him next. "You'll take care of them, right?"

Harry patted her back gently. "Of course, Hermione."

"And yourself, too?"

Harry brushed her off. "I'm fine," he said. 

She fixed him with a piercing look. "You'll see a healer?"

"For what?" Harry wondered.

Hermione's gaze sharpened. "Harry," she said pointedly. "Ginny and I do talk. I want you to see a healer." 

"It's nothing," Harry protested.

She pointed to his chest where Voldemort's final curse had struck him. "That's the second killing curse you've been hit with and it destroyed a piece of Voldemort's soul that was inside you for years."

"I feel fine."

"Harry!" 

Harry was about to say "I'm fine" again, but her stare bore into him. "I'll think about it."

Hermione looked as if she were about to argue, but instead she threw her arms up and sighed. "I'm going to tell Ginny. She'll make you see sense." She turned and set off to hers and Ginny's room.

Harry turned to Ron. "Smart idea with the library suggestion," he said. "You really going to help do research?"

Ron shrugged. "Can't exactly back out now, can I?" he asked. He grinned and nudged Harry's ribs. "Besides. I have it on good authority that she's always wanted to snog someone in the library."

Harry stumbled out of the fireplace of the Tonks house, wiping the ash from his clothes as he did. He'd been there once before, during his escape from Privet Drive, but he hadn't spared much thought to the house or its contents. The Tonks house, though modest in size, was rather elegant now that he saw it in the light. The floors were polished wood, warm and inviting, with soft area rugs laid throughout. There was an open, airy feel to the house, accentuated by large windows that allowed the soft golden hue of evening sunlight streamed through the glass. 

Harry stepped out of the fireplace to make room for Ginny. The sitting room, where Harry had emerged from the fireplace, was spacious and cozy. A grand piano stood in one corner, flanked by neatly stacked music books. Comfortable armchairs and a plush sofa circled a polished wooden table at the center of the room.

Along the walls were countless family photographs, carefully framed. They showed the Tonks family throughout the years—Andromeda smiling warmly at what must have been Nymphadora as a child, Ted Tonks, before he'd grown his belly, with his arm around his wife, laughing at something just out of sight, dozens of photos of Tonks herself in various silly poses, cartwheeling through the yard, hanging upside-down from a tree branch, leaping into a lake in the summer. One picture caught Harry's attention—a young Tonks chasing after a large black dog.

"Harry, you've made it. Wonderful," Andi greeted, stepping into the room. She had a wand in one hand and Teddy braced against her. "Oh! Was Ginny not able to make it?"

"She should be right behind—"

Before Harry could finish, the green flames of the Floo Network flared to life, and Ginny stepped out gracefully. For the upteenth time that evening Harry was struck. She looked stunning . She had chosen a pale green blouse that complemented her fiery hair. She'd put her hair in a loose braid, with a few strands framing her face in a way that Harry thought was completely unfair to his ability to focus. 

Ginny looked a tad nervous, her eyes just a bit wider than usual as she took in the room. Despite the eye-rolling at her mother, she'd clearly been worried about presenting herself well to Andi.

Harry smiled to himself. He knew Ginny would roll her eyes if he told her how perfect she looked, so he settled for a quiet, "You look great." She shot him a grin, but he noticed the faintest blush rising in her cheeks as she pulled her cardigan tighter.

"Ginny, it's so lovely to see you," Andromeda said warmly. She glanced between Harry and what he assumed was the kitchen before adjusting her hold on Teddy. "Harry, would you mind—"

"Oh, of course," Harry said, and took Teddy and cradled him against his chest. He bounced him a little, readjusting to the feel of a child in his arms. "He's gotten bigger," Harry marveled. "It's only been a week."

With her arms now free, Andi was able to greet Harry and Ginny with a gentle hug. "They can grow quickly at this stage," she said, looking at them fondly.

"Is there anything I can help with?" Ginny offered, smoothing out her blouse and brushing the ash from her jeans. 

"Would you? That would be wonderful," Andromeda replied. She gestured for Ginny to follow her down the hallway. 

Harry cradled Teddy, staring into the boy's pale, grey-blue eyes—so much like Remus's that it made Harry's chest ache. "Hey, kid," he whispered. He bit his lip. What was he supposed to do with a baby this small?

Teddy blinked up at him, his tiny head swaying slightly as he tried to focus. Then, as if responding to Harry's voice, a ripple seemed to shiver through his little body. Harry watched, stunned, as Teddy's eyes flashed a vibrant green and the faint tuft of hair on his head darkened to jet black.

"That is a neat trick," Harry said with a laugh, his grin spreading wide. Adjusting his grip on the baby, he followed the sound of Andromeda and Ginny's voices toward the kitchen.

They passed another small room—a tiny library, or some sort of small home office. It had two large desks back-to-back in the center of the room. The walls were lined with book-filled shelves and even more photographs.

Harry hesitated, curiosity tugging at him. He looked down at Teddy. "Fancy showing me around, kid?"

He made a mental note to tell Hermione about this office, but only after he'd made sure to secure her an invite to dinner. She would've been able to spend hours going through the hundreds of books filling the office. He noticed there didn't seem to be much theme to the books—some on magical theory, some on Muggle literature, others…

"Current Medical Diagnosis and Treatment: 1998," Harry read aloud. He glanced at Teddy. "Spend a lot of time with that one, do you?" Teddy—obviously—didn't answer. 

As Harry wandered past the shelves, a photograph stopped him in his tracks. His breath hitched. There, staring back at him, was his father, James Potter. Shirtless and grinning, James stood on a beach, one arm slung around the shoulder of a young Sirius Black, the other wrapped around Lily. Harry's mother held a tiny girl with bright pink hair—probably four or five years old.

Beside Sirius stood Ted Tonks, much younger than the man Harry remembered from when they'd met. He was shorter than Sirius by a head, but probably outweighed him by a good thirty pounds. Though the faint start of a belly softened his middle, his frame was still dominated by well-defined, powerful muscles, reminiscent of a Beater who hadn't completely abandoned the pitch. Shirtless as well, Ted was caught mid-laugh, flexing his muscles in a ridiculously exaggerated pose. 

As Ted continued his display of strength, James and Sirius joined in, their wirier physiques adding to the spectacle. Lily and the young Tonks clutched their sides, roaring with laughter at the scene.

Harry's jaw clenched. Tears pricked his eyes, hot and sudden. He hadn't been prepared for this—a glimpse into the life that might have been. The joy, the simplicity, the love captured in that single photograph felt like a punch to the gut.

"Harry?" Andi's voice called out behind him. He spun around to find her and Ginny standing in the entryway to the study. 

"We were worried you'd gotten lost," Ginny teased, her eyes sparkling.

Harry grinned at her like an idiot. He just couldn't help himself. "I tried asking Teddy for directions but he wasn't cooperating."

Andi let out a mock gasp. "The son of Remus and Dora Lupin already getting you in trouble?" she said. "By Merlin, I don't believe it."

Harry rubbed his neck bashfully. "Sorry. I didn't mean to snoop."

Andi waved a dismissive hand, stepping into the room. "Snoop away, Harry dear," she said warmly. Her gaze followed his to the photograph he'd been staring at, and a soft smile spread across her face. "Ah, that was a good day."

"I didn't know you knew my parents," he said. 

"Well one was hard-pressed to find Sirius without James, especially once he ran away from home," Andi said, her gaze seemed to drift away as she stared at the young Tonks, making faces at the camera. "I didn't know Lily terribly well, I'll admit. But she and Ted got on famously once she started coming around. Always talking about new things in the Muggle world and comparing them to how we do them. And Dora adored her, of course." 

"You have a lot of Muggle textbooks here, too," Ginny said, circling the opposite side of the room. Her fingers skimmed the spines of several books. "Are these Muggle healer books? What are they called again?"

"Doctors," Harry supplied, still not taking his eyes from the photograph of his parents.

Andi nodded. "Ted and I are healers. It's what brought us together, actually," she said. She glanced across the room to the desks and Harry noticed the framed diplomas scattered across one of them. "When we left Hogwarts there was a lot of worry about the building war. Everyone was talking about fighting. Auror this, Ministry that. Ted and I knew there were going to be a lot of people hurting. We began our training together while Sirius and your parents were starting at Hogwarts."

"And the Muggle textbooks?" Harry asked.

Andi's smile brightened. "Ted's idea, actually," she said. "He was Muggle-born so he had some experience with Muggle medicine. He thought it might make us more well-rounded healers, or possibly give us some new insights that magical healers lost over the centuries." 

She pointed to another photograph nearby. In it, she and Ted stood in formal Muggle attire in front of a large building with the word Montefiore prominently displayed over the entrance. "We found a program—through Professor Slughorn, actually—that set us up with a three-year Muggle physician residency in New York."

"I didn't know you could do that," Harry muttered thoughtfully.

"It was easier twenty years ago," Andi admitted, her smile fading slightly. "At the time, there were still many old pure-blood families supporting pro-Muggle-born legislation. Voldemort targeted them first. And after his fall, pure-bloods like Lucius and Abraxas Malfoy worked tirelessly to roll back those initiatives." 

She nodded pointedly to Harry. "Your great-grandfather Henry, in fact, was a staunchly pro-Muggle voice on the Wizengamot. Your grandfather, Fleamont, took great pride in being labeled a blood-traitor. He and Euphemia donated to all sorts of different pro-Muggle charities and scholarship funds despite the target it put on them."

"I didn't know that," Harry said. His chest swelled with pride, but also longing to know more.

"It's why James took the war effort so seriously," Andi said, smiling wistfully. "Imagine all the zeal and stubbornness of the Blacks and Malfoys, but pointed entirely in the opposite direction—dedicated to proving that 'pure-blood' means nothing if you're not a decent person first."

"Sounds a bit like the Weasleys if you ask me," Harry said fondly, smiling at Ginny.

Andi chuckled warmly. "You should ask Arthur about his father, Septimus. I believe he was the one who earned the Weasleys their 'blood traitor' label," she said. "And later, he married my grandfather's cousin, Cedrella Black. She became the first of us to be blasted off the Black Family Tapestry."

Ginny's eyes widened in surprise. "Oh," she murmured. Harry hadn't realized that the Weasleys and Blacks were related, however distantly.

Andi patted Ginny's arm reassuringly. "An inspiration to us all," she said with a wink. "Sirius and I took great pride in that legacy."

"You seem to know a lot about all this," Harry said, glancing at the shelves around them. "Family trees and histories and all that."

"Pure-blood families like the Blacks are obsessed with it," Andromeda admitted with a heavy sigh. "Before we even got to Hogwarts, we spent hours memorizing who was and wasn't 'acceptable' to associate with." Her gaze grew distant for a moment before she shook her head, dismissing the memory. "Come, let's sit and have dinner."

Harry followed her and Ginny to the kitchen, Teddy still cradled in his arms. The kitchen was open and modern, with sleek marble countertops and polished cupboards that would have not looked out of place in the Dursleys' home. An array of magical devices were tucked neatly into drawers or sitting on countertops—self-stirring spoons, a set of enchanted knives, and an old-fashioned kettle. A large kitchen table in the center of the room, surrounded by matching chairs.

Harry handed Teddy back to Andromeda, who settled him into a low, chair-like contraption that began to gently sway and rock as soon as he was secured. Teddy's wide eyes followed Harry as he sat down, and Harry wiggled his eyebrows at the boy, earning him the faintest hint of a smile.

"Please, tuck in," Andi said, ladling them a bowl of soup. "I hope you'll forgive me for going a bit overboard. I'll admit, I was rather excited to be hosting again."

"You don't have to worry about that with us Weasleys," Ginny said, helping herself to a crusty roll of bread. "It smells amazing. Did you make this all yourself?"

Andi nodded, clearly pleased with the reaction. "Yes, except for the dessert. Teddy and I picked that up in town this morning." She smiled secretly. "We did a bit of searching for that one, didn't we Teddy?" She waved her wand and two bottles of butterbeer came floating over from the icebox. "I imagine you two are as fond of this as Dora and Remus were."

Harry nodded gratefully and took a spoonful of the soup—creamy leek and potato topped with crispy shallots. "This is fantastic."

"Cooking is quite a bit like Potions," Andi said. "I was a rather dreadful cook until I began thinking of it that way. Then it all clicked into place." She smiled, though there was something sad behind it. "Ted was the better cook, I'll admit. He was always a bit more daring and creative. I've always done better with set instructions."

"Wish I'd thought of it like that," Harry muttered dourly. "I was always rubbish at Potions when Snape was teaching." 

"Oh? Did you do much cooking yourself?" Andi asked. Another wave of her wand brought over the main course, a dish of lamb in some sort of sauce with roasted carrots, parsnips, and potatoes. 

"Just with my aunt and uncle," Harry said, trying to sound casual. "I did most of their cooking growing up."

Andi gave him a tight-lipped smile, the kind that suggested she understood far more than Harry had said. "Well, from what I've heard through the extended Slug Club, you turned things around quite impressively in your sixth year."

Harry grimaced. "That's…complicated," he admitted, launching into a brief recount of his adventures with the Half-Blood Prince's Potions textbook. By the end, Andromeda's eyes had widened in disbelief, her expression both amused and astonished.

"Well…" Andi searched for the right response. "Sounds like you're a bit more like me in that regard." She and Harry shared a self-deprecating chuckle. "But if either of you ever want help with Potions, feel free to write to me. I do most of my work with magical maladies and diseases, and as you might imagine, there's a fair amount of potioneering involved."

"Wow, that sounds intense," Ginny said, looking at Andi in a whole new light.

Andi smiled. "It can be, but it's also a great deal of research. Trial and error," she explained. 

"Do you work at St. Mungo's?" Harry asked.

Andi nodded. "For quite some time I did, yes," she said. "They have an excellent research and training program for Blood Malediction Specialists. I was involved with it for years. About six years ago, though, I transferred to help establish a department for Magical Infectious Diseases at a smaller facility in Leeds. And Ted decided to set up a private practice from his home office, though he retained his admitting privileges at St. Mungo's."

"Was Ted also…in that field?" Harry asked, fumbling to remember the titles and specialties Andi had just mentioned.

"Ted worked as a Spell Damage Specialist, focusing on mental and emotional trauma," Andi said, her voice filled with pride. "He was quite well-published, particularly on the psychological effects of magic, trauma, and memory modification."

This piqued Harry's interest. "Do you have any of his research here?"

"Of course," Andi said with a nod. "Any particular interest?" 

Harry quickly recounted Hermione's situation with her parents, and Andi's expression grew thoughtful.

"Yes, of course," she said, tapping her fingers lightly on the table. "Remind me before you leave, and I'll send you home with some of his work. That was a rather complex bit of magic your friend performed. I recall Ted consulting on a similar case—oh, that Lockhart fellow everyone was fawning over a few years back."

Harry grimaced, sharing an awkward glance with Ginny, who hid her grin behind her butterbeer.

"But he'd done such a monstrous job mangling his own memories that there really wasn't much left to work with," Andi continued. "It sounds like Miss Granger was quite a bit more deliberate and—dare I say—restrained."

Harry chewed his lip. "Would be hard to be less restrained."

Andi continued by regaling Harry and Ginny with her memories of Sirius's time at Hogwarts and the fallout from his Sorting into Gryffindor. 

"It was maybe two months before I was blasted off the tapestry," Andi recalled, her voice tinged with both amusement and indignation. "The uproar from Walburga and Orion was spectacular. They demanded a meeting with Dumbledore, threatened to involve the Ministry, and even considered withdrawing him from Hogwarts to send him to Durmstrang. Of course, none of that went anywhere once Professor McGonagall got involved."

Harry gave her a questioning look.

"Oh, yes," Andromeda said with a fond smile. "She knows Magical Law inside and out, especially all the tired anti-Muggle rubbish the Blacks were so fond of. She pointed out just how many more opportunities Sirius would have in Britain with a Hogwarts education than a Durmstrang one. She took quite a liking to Sirius after that. Even convinced Orion to sign his Hogsmeade permission form in third year."

She leaned back. "By that time, Ted and I were married, but we would meet Sirius in Hogsmeade when we could. I worried about him, you know. His home life was awful, and I knew how much of a target he was at school, given the Black family reputation."

Her smile softened. "That's when I first met James. Though Remus and…Pettigrew," her expression darkening at the name, "never came along. Perhaps for the best. I don't know how I'd have reacted to Remus and Dora's later involvement if I'd met him while I was pregnant. And Pettigrew…Well, best he remain forgotten."

Harry had to agree.

"After that I don't think I ever saw Sirius without James," she said fondly. "Your grandparents even had Ted and I over several times for the holidays. Then your mother came into the picture and, well…"

Harry frowned, fighting against the tightness in his chest. "I wish I'd known about all this," he muttered. Ginny's hand found his underneath the table. 

Andi gave him a sympathetic look. "It was hard for all of us, what happened to your parents. And then the world blamed Sirius," she said. She looked down into her glass and shook her head. "We couldn't believe it. We thought he must have been under the Imperius Curse. But…I knew Sirius too well. No one could force him to do anything he didn't want to do."

Harry nodded. That sounded very much like Sirius. Still, he couldn't help but wish he'd known about Andi and Ted before; people he could have turned to for help when he was still the little boy in the cupboard.

Andi seemed to sense his distress. "We talked, you know, Sirius and I. Dora, too," she began. She took his other hand and he swallowed hard. "They told us what growing up for you was like."

Harry shook his head tightly. "My aunt and uncle were…not good to me," he said. 

"It's cruel how they treated you." Andi's voice was sharp. "I wish we had fought harder for you," she admitted, her eyes tearing up. "But we'd never met you—your parents went into hiding almost as soon as you were born. Then…your grandparents had passed, and everything happened that night. We trusted Dumbledore with your safety.

"I swear to you, Harry—if we had known, Ted and I would have taken you from there in a heartbeat. Dumbledore or not." She let out a shuddering breath and sighed. "I know it's quite late—you're a man now—but if you ever need anything. Pictures, stories, anything…" she let the offer hang in the air, the rest of it unspoken.

Harry blinked rapidly, his throat tight. Andromeda's protectiveness felt like something he'd longed for his entire life. He managed a watery smile. "I wouldn't say no to dessert," he said, his voice cracking slightly.

Andi laughed, wiping unshed tears from her eyes and nodded. "I've been led to understand you're quite fond of toffee." She brought out a sticky toffee pudding that set Harry's mouth watering.

"Now," she said as she served them generous portions, "I've prattled on enough about my sordid family history. Tell me about yourselves. I've only heard bits from Dora and Remus."

Andi gave him an imploring look, and with Ginny's encouragement, Harry launched into an abbreviated explanation of his school exploits. She listened with rapt fascination, breaking the silence only to whisper soothingly to Teddy when he started fussing.

"Merlin," Andi breathed. "I've heard rumors and stories, of course. But I don't think they do the full account of it justice."

Harry fought the urge to groan. "It all sounds more impressive when you put it together like that," he objected. "But really I just did what I had to in order to survive. I'm not that special."

Andi smiled fondly. "I disagree, Harry," she said. "The rumors make you out to be some sort of mythical figure. The Dumbledore of your generation, maybe even the second coming of Merlin." She shook her head. "But truly, the most impressive part of it all is that you are not those things—no one is, of course, not even Dumbledore and Merlin were. But you were just a boy, a young man who—no credit to the people who raised you—chose to take on this impossible burden and not shrink from it despite all the odds stacked against you."

Harry flushed and looked away in embarrassment.

"That," Andromeda continued gently, "is far more impressive than any mythical equivalency people might try to place on you."

Before Harry could respond, Teddy began fussing more persistently, making it clear that his day was done. Harry and Ginny offered to help Andromeda put him to bed, but she waved off their efforts with a laugh.

"I appreciate the offer, dears, but Teddy and I have this well in hand. Don't we, Teddy?" She tapped the baby on his nose, earning a brief, distracted smile. "I know I might be a grandmother already, but I'm still in my forties. If Dumbledore could duel Voldemort at a hundred and fifteen, I think I can manage little Teddy," she teased. "Besides, I think he's quite taken with you two. He'll fight sleep if you're around."

"We should probably head out, then," Ginny said as she stood. "We don't want to overstay our welcome." Her tone was calm but more reserved than usual, and Harry made a mental note to ask her about it later.

"Not at all," Andromeda said, waving away Ginny's concerns. Then, after a moment's thought, she added, "Actually, if one of you wouldn't mind feeding Teddy, I'll find some of Ted's research for Miss Granger."

Ginny moved faster than Harry by a fraction of a second. "Me!" she exclaimed, scooping Teddy into her arms. "Hello, little wizard," she cooed softly. As soon as Teddy saw her, his hair turned a bright Weasley red before fading back to its usual turquoise when she offered him his bottle.

Harry followed Andromeda to her study, where she spent several minutes rummaging through shelves and stacks of parchment. By the time she was satisfied, Harry was balancing a teetering stack of books and papers nearly a foot tall.

"Let me know if you find anything that might help," she said, placing one final book atop the pile.

"This is incredible," Harry said sincerely, struggling to steady the stack. "Thank you so much, Andi."

Andromeda nodded and placed a comforting hand on his arm. "Of course, Harry. That's what family is for," she said warmly. "And Ted would have been thrilled to know his work is still helping people."

Harry smiled tightly, overwhelmed by the kindness and support from someone who had been a stranger to him only hours earlier. "I really appreciate this. All of it," he said, gesturing vaguely around the room. His gaze lingered on the photograph of his parents, Tonks, and Ted at the beach. "It means more than I know how to say."

"Anytime," Andi said insistently. She glanced between him and Ginny—still holding Teddy—with a knowing smile. "If you need anything…"

"Same for you," Harry said with a grin. "I know…none of this is easy right now."

"No, it's not," Andi agreed with a tight nod. 

"So if you need someone to talk to—who can actually talk back," Andi laughed, "or need someone to watch Teddy for a bit while you're at work." He looked at Teddy, nestled in Ginny's arms and reaching for her braid. "I just want Teddy to have the childhood I never got the chance to."

Andi's face lit with gratitude. "Of course," she said quickly. "And you're welcome here anytime. Friday dinners are a tradition—Teddy and I would love to have you." Her eyes sparkled as she looked at Ginny. "Just give me a heads-up if you plan to bring any additional Weasleys along so I can prepare accordingly."

Ginny laughed knowingly.

Andi led them back to the fireplace in the sitting room. Ginny gently handed Teddy back to her, whispering a tender goodbye to the baby before turning to Andi. "Thank you for dinner," she said warmly, stepping into the hearth. With a cry of "The Burrow," she disappeared in a rush of green flames.

Harry lingered, his gaze sweeping the room one last time, taking in the reminders of his family's history scattered throughout a place that still felt very much alive. Finally, he turned to Andi. "I'm really glad Teddy has you," he said, offering her a tight-lipped smile.

Andi reached out, cupping the side of his face with her free hand. Her voice was steady, yet filled with fondness. "And I'm very glad Teddy has you too, Harry," she said softly. "I'm very glad I am not alone."

Harry blinked back the sudden sting in his eyes and nodded. With a final look at the baby now dozing contentedly in her arms, he stepped into the fireplace. "The Burrow," he called out, and the room vanished in a swirl of green fire.

Chapter Text

May 29, 1998

The week following their dinner with Andromeda Tonks passed in a steady rhythm that was both grounding and strangely normal. Each day began at the crack of dawn, Ginny slipping quietly out of bed and into her trainers before the house was fully awake. She'd started her early morning runs as a way to clear her head and prepare for Quidditch. Harry had joined her before, but recently, Harry and Ron had decided to join her every day . 

Harry, she suspected, was preparing himself for Auror training. His determination was evident in the way he pushed himself. Ginny was already beginning to notice a difference. He wasn't as rail-thin as he'd been after the battle; a month of eating Mum's cooking would do that. He'd gotten stronger, too. When she'd started her runs after returning to the Burrow Harry had barely been able to keep up with her, in no small part to his deteriorated health. But now, less than a month later, she was the one struggling to keep up with his longer strides. 

Ron, on the other hand, seemed more motivated by the realization that his upcoming search for Hermione's parents would take him far from Harry—and from the structure they'd built together over the past year, and was trying to spend as much time with his best friend as possible before leaving. And if she thought Harry's strides were tough to keep up with, Ron's were damn near impossible.  

"I'm not saying I've decided for certain to join the Aurors or anything," Ron explained to them one morning after a particularly rain-drenched run. "But it's either run with you or go through all that research with Hermione first thing in the morning."

By the time they returned, red-faced and sweaty, Hermione would already be awake, bent over stacks of parchment and books in the sitting room. She'd taken on the task of studying Ted Tonks' research into mind healing with her usual fervor. Ginny watched as, little by little, Hermione's project began to overtake her side of their shared room, spilling papers, parchment, and textbooks first over her small desk, then Hermione's makeshift nightstand, then into ever-expanding piles on the floor.

After breakfast, Ginny's world shifted to the familiar rhythm of Quidditch. The first few mornings, it was just her and Harry—passing drills, racing, or working on precision maneuvers. Demelza joined them at the beginning of the week, however, and became a regular fixture the rest of the time. Ginny realized just how much she missed her best friend; how much she missed the normal parts of having friends when they weren't trying to undermine Death Eaters. 

Demelza Robbins was fun —always had been. It's why they'd gotten along so fabulously at school. Demelza was a whirlwind of sass and sharp-edged loyalty, and Ginny couldn't imagine life without her. Blunt and unapologetically opinionated, she never hesitated to call things as she saw them. With her around, Ginny found herself laughing more than she had in months, caught between Harry's dry sarcasm and Demelza's teasing.

"Are you sure you and Ron don't want to come back for one more year, Harry?" Demelza had asked, her voice teasingly hopeful. "If all we have to find is another Chaser…" she trailed off meaningfully.

Harry had laughed from atop his broom. "If I went back just to play Quidditch I'd never pass my coursework," he said, wiping the sweat-drenched hair from his eyes. "I'd just skive off to hang out with Ginny."

"So Quidditch and snogging your girlfriend isn't enough? What else are you looking to do with yourself?" Demelza said. A mischievous grin had flashed across her face. "Not to try and sway you from your oh-so-noble calling, but snogging opportunities will be hard to come by with you at the Ministry and Ginny at school. Owling each other takes time and it's not like Ginny can just live with her head in the Floo every night."

Ginny's heart had sunk when that realization was voiced, but a thoughtfully determined look crossed Harry's face and he'd assured Demelza that they'd "figure it out." 

Meanwhile, Ron and Hermione would Disapparate to Hogsmeade after breakfast and spend the mornings at Hogwarts, combing the library for resources that might aid in their trip to Australia and fill in any potential gaps or questions they had regarding Ted's research. Harry sometimes joined them after Quidditch if Demelza was there, leaving her and Ginny to their own devices. 

Harry had made it clear he wanted Ginny to have time with her friend without feeling like he was hovering. He knew she and Hermione got on well—great, even—but they had very different interests. Ginny didn't mind; while she loved the lazy afternoons spent walking the orchard paths with Harry, she knew how important it was for them both to not be entirely consumed by their relationship, especially with the time they were going to spend apart in the next year. 

And Demelza made that easy. They spent their time together sprawled out in the grass, talking mostly about who they thought might make the Gryffindor Quidditch team, or who might not come back the following term. 

Evenings brought everyone back together. Ron and Hermione would return from Hogwarts, dusty and tired, with Harry in tow if he'd joined them. Dinner at the Burrow was a crowded, chaotic affair, with Percy, Charlie, and George around the table most nights. Bill and Fleur often stopped by, too, bringing a sense of normalcy that was still tinged with the hollow sting of Fred's absence. 

It was a week of quiet rebuilding—not just for the Burrow and Hogwarts, but for themselves. Ginny felt the pieces of her life clicking back into place, and while they didn't fit perfectly yet, she could see the shape they were forming. And every evening, as Harry caught her eye across the table with a soft smile meant just for her, she was reminded that they were building something together.

"Maybe we're running ourselves a little too hard," Demelza said that Friday afternoon, flopping back onto the grass after a particularly grueling keepaway session. "I think my fingers have stopped working. Want to take a break this weekend?"

"Yeah, sure," Ginny answered, wiping sweat from her brow. "Mum has a big dinner planned for Sunday anyway to send off Ron and Hermione, so I'll probably be pulled into preparing for that."

"We could invite Luna over, doesn't she live nearby?" Demelza asked in between sips of water. "Maybe get all the girls together tomorrow? See how everyone's doing."

Ginny grinned. She hadn't seen her dormmates since before Easter when her family went into hiding. "That sounds brilliant. I'll invite Hermione, too. I know she's wrapped up in her research—"

"Which—while I understand—I still think is mental ," Demelza interrupted.

"I'm told it comes in handy during revision," Ginny pointed out. 

Demelza snorted skeptically.

"Anyway. Since she's coming back next year it would be good for her to get to really know everyone first," Ginny continued. "She'll probably be dorming with us if she's not made Head Girl. 

"She should take a minute before she leaves anyway," Demelza pointed out.

Ginny nodded. "We can floo-call them before you leave and I'll owl Luna tonight." She frowned as a thought occurred. "Do you think they'll be bored around here? Maybe we should meet them in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade."

Demelza shook her head swiftly. "Not a chance. One: they've always wanted to see this place," she said, counting off on her fingers. "Two: your mum's cooking is better than anything we'd get anywhere else—"

"You're not taking advantage of Mum's compulsive need to feed everyone," Ginny interrupted. 

Demelza waved her off. "Three—and this is most important—it took me three days to convince my mum to sign off on meeting Maddox at the Leaky . And I'm still not convinced she didn't have me tailed. The only reason she lets me out of her sight here is because she knows Bill set up the wards personally."

Ginny laughed. "Is she still talking about poaching him from Gringotts?"

Demelza nodded. "Poaching, stealing…Honestly, now that she knows it's possible to rob Gringotts she really might give it a go." She stood up and stretched. "She's been trying to convince him to switch over for a while," Demelza said, shooting upright. "But now that she knows Bill set up the wards for most of the Order of the Phoenix…" She shook her head in disbelief. "Ginny, he could make a mint working for Mum's company now."

Ginny grinned and swelled with pride for her brother. Demelza's mum ran a private security consulting company called HexShield Solutions . They provided ward installations, curse-detection, and security management for private companies and some wealthier families. HexShield was far from the only company in that line of work, but they were specifically notable for hiring regardless of blood status and declining contracts that required anti-muggle intentions.

"You told her that Weasleys can't be swayed with money, right?" Ginny asked teasingly. "Look at my dad, look at Charlie!" She laughed as Demelza rolled her eyes. "Weasleys follow their passions. The twins were more excited with opening their shop than they were with the money that came in." She noticed, wistfully, that her heart ached just a tiny bit less at the mention of the twins than it had the days before. "Bill loves curse-breaking. He loves travelling. I'm betting he and Fleur go off somewhere for a few years once everything calms down here."

Demelza shrugged. "Honestly, I wouldn't blame them," she said. "That sounds fantastic."

"Although," Ginny mused thoughtfully. "I'll bet they stick around once they have kids." 

Demelza shuddered. "Can't imagine Bill doing all that curse-breaking stuff with a baby. I'll tell Mum not to lose hope forever."

Ginny reached out a hand and let Demelza pull her to her feet. "Speaking of—once it gets a little warmer we can see about going to Shell Cottage for a swim," she said. 

"Fucking yes," Demelza swore excitedly, pumping her fist. "But tomorrow. Here."

"And we can all work out a way to convince your mum that we'll be secure if we go to Hogsmeade or the Alley."

Ginny met Harry by the Burrow's fireplace that night before heading to Andi's for Friday dinner. She smoothed out her hair compulsively, acknowledging that it was a wasted effort to do so before going through the floo network.

"Are you okay, Gin?" Harry asked, his hand at her elbow. She could have melted at the sight of those green eyes burning with concern. "You look nervous…or something. I think you were worried last week, too."

Ginny chewed her lip, kicking herself for not hiding it better. It was stupid, really. "Of course I'm nervous," she muttered.

"What? Why?"

Ginny steadied herself. "It's like having dinner with your family," she said.

"What? But she's related to you , right? Through your grandmum," Harry said.

"Sure. But it's your mum and dad she has pictures of in her house," Ginny pointed out. " Your godfather was her favorite cousin. Her grandson is your godson." She sighed. "I'm never going to get the chance to meet your parents and know if they approve of me—"

"Ginny!" Harry tried to interrupt. "I—"

Ginny powered on. "So I really want Andi to like me," she finished. She could feel her face burning hot with embarrassment. "I know how important Teddy is to you. I know how important last week was for you. I don't want to be the one who messes—"

"Gin. Hey, that's—," Harry grabbed her arms and pulled her to face him. "My parents would love you. One of the few things I know about parents—good parents—is that they want you to be happy . Your parents taught me that. And mine would love you because I love you."

Ginny stared at him, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, fighting back tears that would undoubtedly ruin her makeup and all the effort she'd put into looking presentable for her boyfriend's sort-of-god-aunt. Harry so rarely said things like that aloud, not so spur of the moment, not without putting hours—days sometimes—of thought and care into the words. But to hear him say them so freely…

"What's that look?" Harry eyed her worriedly. "Is that good? I don't even remember what I said, it just all came out."

Ginny rolled her eyes so hard she worried for a moment they might fall out of her head. She wanted to smack him upside the head, but even then his grin stopped her in her tracks. Harry always seemed to know exactly what to tell her to get her out of her own head. Worried? Make her feel lovestruck. Too lovestruck? Make her feel annoyed. 

She felt a smile force itself past her annoyance. "I love you," she whispered.

He slipped his arms around her. "Is that why you were so worried? You should tell Andi that. It'll probably make her entire week."

Harry was right, of course. Andi had looked torn between laughing and crying when Ginny had admitted as much. She settled on taking Ginny's hand across the table and giving it an encouraging squeeze.

"Ginny, dear, of course I like you," she said sincerely. A playful grin lit up her features. "I'm not certain if you're aware or not. But the Blacks are not known for hiding what we think of people. The Tonkses, even less so."

Ginny let out a sigh of relief that she wasn't aware she'd been holding. 

"Things got rather repetitive while Dora, Remus, and I were holed up here," she explained, continuing their conversation retelling the previous year. She had a mischievous look in her eyes. "And I must admit we indulged in a bit of gossip to pass the time."

Harry looked dumbstruck, as if he couldn't believe it, but Ginny just laughed. "Anything interesting?" 

Andi laughed. She leaned back in her chair, looking dramatically thoughtful. "Well, let's see…oh! Both Dora and Remus were distinctly aware that your mother was trying to set her up with Bill."

"Oh, Merlin," Ginny groaned, hiding her face in her hands. She'd forgotten about that.

"Dora told Remus she hadn't even considered it until Bill was attacked by Greyback," Andi said furtively. "She found him rather good-looking after that for some reason."

Harry winced. "Poor Remus," he laughed painfully. 

"Oh, people let that man get away with far too much," Andi warned playfully. "He learned quite a bit about the students during his time as a professor. And he picked up quite a bit from working with your brothers on Potterwatch." 

"From them or about them?" Ginny wondered. It was rare for anyone to have something juicy on Fred or George.

"Oh, both , my dear," Andi said with a grin. "But I'd like to hear from you, Ginny. Now that you can be assured that I like you and—for whatever it's worth— approve of you, tell me a little bit more. We know Harry wants to be an Auror. What about you? What do you want to do after Hogwarts?"

"I'm keeping my options open," Ginny said. She chewed her lip and glanced nervously over to Harry. He was watching her quietly, waiting for her to take the lead. There was a smile on his face and such overwhelming belief in his eyes. "But," she watched Harry's eyes widen in surprise and excitement, "I want to play Quidditch."

"Professionally?" Andi asked, sitting up. Ginny suddenly found herself wishing she was better at reading Andi's thoughts.

"Professionally," Ginny said with a nod. She looked up, straight into Andi's eyes, and held her gaze with all the conviction she could muster. She'd never told another soul outside of Harry, and was still nervous about admitting it aloud, but she found herself desperately wanting Andi's approval.

"Really?" Andi asked excitedly, leaning forward. "Are you that good?"

"I—I think so," she said meekly.

"She's amazing," Harry said confidently, with just the slightest hint of defensiveness. "Best I've ever seen on a broom."

"Are you? Fantastic !" Andi exclaimed. She clapped her hands together. "I love Quidditch."

"Really?" Ginny asked, relief flooding through her.

"Absolutely! Most brilliant sport there is," Andi said emphatically. "Propper young women from ' Ancient and Noble Houses ' are strongly discouraged from getting involved in anything as ' lowly ' as Quidditch."

Ginny frowned and realized that as long as she'd been at Hogwarts she'd never seen a girl play for Slytherin. She nodded.

"So as you can imagine, as soon as I was blasted off the family tapestry, I dove into all the things I was not allowed to do," Andi said conspiratorially. "Went to Muggle restaurants and bars, wore Muggle clothes, got tattoos, smoked—"

"Smoked?" Harry goggled.

"Yes. Awful habit. Best avoid it yourself," Andi advised. She turned back to Ginny. "But most of all, Quidditch. Now, I'm absolutely dreadful myself, but I had Ted teach me how to play, and I fell in love with the game. What's your team?"

"Holyhead Harpies," Ginny declared, holding her chin high. 

"Montrose Magpies," Andi offered, almost vibrating with excitement. "Oh, I'm thrilled to have someone to talk Quidditch with. Remus and Dora never cared much for it. I can only hope Teddy takes after Ted and me."

"Yes!" Ginny all but shouted. "Any time you want. Ron is a diehard Cannons fan," she laughed as Andi blanched. "And this one," she jabbed her thumb at Harry, who gave her a helpless "who me?" look, "Just likes, ' to play the game for fun .'" She rolled her eyes dramatically. 

"Harry," Andi tutted playfully, shaking her head in mock disappointment. "What would James say?"

"Did he have a favorite team?" Harry asked, his voice suddenly earnest, a raw eagerness in his expression that tugged at Ginny's heart. She'd seen that look before—the desperation for any scrap of connection to his parents.

"Falmouth Falcons," Andi said with a tone of fond bewilderment. "Your grandfather got him tickets for his birthday every year. We could never understand what it was about the Falcons he liked so much. They are such a violent team and that was not James's style at all." She shrugged helplessly. "I think he may have just liked falcons."

Ginny chuckled, her mind already forming a mental image of someone that looked remarkably like Harry excitedly chatting about birds and trying to explain his unusual choice. "Sounds about right," she said, shaking her head with a grin.

Andi laughed softly, and Ginny hesitated for a moment before steering the conversation in a more serious direction. "Andi," she said, her tone dropping slightly. "Do you know of any healers who are good with curse wounds? Someone discreet who wouldn't make a fuss?"

Harry stiffened beside her and shot her a wide-eyed look, but Ginny ignored him, keeping her focus on Andi. "Harry's been dealing with something that hasn't healed properly, and I just thought—well, you might know the right sort of person to help."

Andi's brow furrowed in concern as she turned her attention fully to Harry. "A curse wound?" she asked, her voice calm but tinged with worry. "How long has it been giving you trouble?"

"It's not that bad," Harry muttered, his shoulders hunching slightly.

Andi gave him a look that could rival Professor McGonagall's. "I'll decide that after I see it."

Harry blinked. "You?"

"Yes, me," Andi said, a touch of amusement softening her expression. "Curse wounds are something I'm quite familiar with."

Ginny's eyes lit up. "You'd take a look?"

"Of course," Andi said, already standing with her wand in hand. "Let's have a look now, and if it's something more complicated, I can arrange for more thorough treatment at my clinic where we won't be disturbed."

Harry hesitated, glancing at Ginny, who gave him an encouraging nod. He sighed, unbuttoning his shirt to reveal the still-blotchy bruise and jagged cut on his chest.

Andi leaned closer, her expression turning serious and professional. "Hmm," she murmured, her wand tracing carefully over the mark as she muttered diagnostic spells. "Yes, I see…this is," her brow furrowed and her face darkened, "what curse caused this?"

Harry hesitated for a moment, his eyes distant and refusing to meet her gaze. She could see them flickering between pictures in the dining room before landing on little Teddy in his bouncing chair.

"The killing curse," Harry muttered softly.

Andi's wand jerked away slightly and her gaze snapped up—first to the scar on Harry's forehead and then to his eyes. 

"This was… him ?" she asked after a long moment. Harry nodded, and she grew thoughtful again. She began muttering softly, mostly to herself, but Ginny could make out a few words. "Twice. Unprecedented." She glanced back at Harry. "How long have you had this?"

"He's had it since the battle," Ginny supplied. Harry shot her a look of annoyance. "Don't look at me in that tone of voice."

Andi murmured again, her wand waving in increasingly complex patterns. "The bruising is unusual. The killing curse usually leaves no marks. This looks…" She hummed thoughtfully.  "It looks remarkably like an injury I saw in my Muggle Residency. A young man came in with his pectoral muscle torn completely off the bone. Bruise just like this."

"Is that what this is?" Harry asked tentatively.

Ginny watched Andi work with a newfound respect. She had expected her to know someone, but finding out Andi herself was so skilled—and so willing to step in without hesitation…Andi was a steadying presence, and Ginny could already see Harry relaxing under her care.

"How's your range of motion?" Andi asked, stepping back. "Any noticeable reduction?"

Harry shrugged and shook his head, but Andi only frowned more. She had him perform a few movements. She had him push his arm against her hand. Then, standing arm's length from a wall, she had Harry place his palms against the wall and perform slow, standing push-ups. 

Ginny watched his face intently, looking for any sign of stiffness, but knew that Harry was quite practiced at this point in controlling his reactions to pain and discomfort.

"Well that's certainly not the injury," Andi said with a nod. "I don't detect any lingering dark magic either. The cut at the center looks quite similar to the scar on your forehead, though that's hardly unexpected. But I'd like to get the bruising and swelling more under control so I can get a better look at it."

Harry shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny. "Is it…is it going to take long?"

Andi smiled kindly. "No, but it would have been better to treat it sooner."

Ginny shot him an "I told you so" look, and he colored sheepishly. 

"Curse wounds are rarely straightforward," Andi explained. "And your situation is…unprecedented. I'll brew a salve that should help with the swelling of the bruise. It'll take a few days to fully heal, but I'm confident we can sort it out."

"Thank you," Ginny said sincerely, her hand resting briefly on Harry's arm.

Andi patted Harry on the shoulder. "You're family, Harry. James, Lily, Sirius, Remus, Dora, Ted—they would all haunt me if I didn't help you."

"I think they'd be more cross with me that I didn't ask you sooner," Harry admitted.

"Yes. But all the same," Andi grinned. She gave him a sympathetic look. "I know there are many people who failed you growing up, Harry. But part of this—coming of age and taking responsibility for yourself—means knowing when to ask for help."

Harry looked ready to explain himself, but she silenced him with a perfectly-practiced look of motherly annoyance.

"There are people who rely on you now, Harry," she said, glancing first at Ginny and then down to Teddy, who had watched everything with wide-eyed fascination. "Taking care of yourself is just as important as taking care of those people."

Harry nodded reluctantly, then turned to Ginny and mouthed, "thank you."

Ginny felt like she'd just conquered a Dark Lord of her own. Her chest swelled with a mix of triumph and relief. Harry, who had stubbornly faced down Voldemort, Death Eaters, and unspeakable horrors, had finally conceded to something as simple—and as monumental—as letting someone help him.

She had spent weeks watching him downplay his pain, brush off his injury, and bury his concerns. It had driven her mad, not because she wanted to control him, but because she loved him too much to let him keep hurting himself like this.

Now, watching him submit to Andi's care, even begrudgingly, felt like proof that he was starting to trust her in a way that went beyond just words. It was a victory, yes, but it wasn't just hers—it was his too.

Harry was looking at her now, a hint of sheepishness in his green eyes. Ginny fought the urge to laugh. Even in his embarrassment, there was gratitude. The stubborn git had finally realized she wasn't nagging—she was fighting for him. They were all fighting for him.

"You know," she said lightly, unable to resist twisting the knife a little, "I'm starting to think you should listen to me more than you let on."

Harry's ears turned pink, and Andi chuckled softly. "Oh, he's not alone in that. Potter men are known for being stubborn, but they know when they've met their match. With redheads especially."

Ginny raised her eyebrows, smirking as she leaned closer to Harry. "Hear that? It's practically genetic. You don't stand a chance."

"That must be why Ron and I get on so well," Harry teased. Ginny smacked his arm playfully. Harry groaned but grinned despite himself. "Remind me again why I love you?"

Ginny grinned back, leaning in closer. "Because I'm brilliant."

Andi's laugh was warm and approving as she gathered her things, her diagnostic spells still working their quiet magic over Harry's scar. 

When Andi straightened, she placed a reassuring hand on Harry's shoulder. "You'll be fine, Harry. I'll have the salve ready by the weekend."

Ginny squeezed Harry's hand as Andi stepped back. She couldn't help but feel victorious again, not just for getting Harry to accept help, but for seeing him surrounded by people who cared for him the way he deserved. And as much as she wanted to gloat, she knew better than to press her luck too far.

As the last remnants of dessert disappeared, Andi rose to gather her things. Teddy let out a tiny yawn from his perch, his hair shifting from a playful turquoise to a soft lavender as his eyelids drooped. Andi smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of his head before excusing herself to put him to bed.

Ginny and Harry began cleaning up the remnants of dinner, but Andi waved them off with a firm shake of her head once she returned from Teddy's room. 

"I will assure your mother you offered to help clean up," she promised knowingly, drawing a cross across her heart. It took only a few more rebuffs before Ginny and Harry finally gave up.

"Goodnight Andi," Harry said, glancing at Andi. "Thanks for dinner. And for…well, everything."

"Of course, Harry," Andi said warmly, and enveloped him in a quick, but secure, hug. "You're always welcome here. Take care of each other."

Instead of the quick, polite goodbye Andi seemed to expect, Ginny stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her in a firm hug. Andi stiffened for only a moment before softening, her free arm coming up to return the embrace.

"Thank you," Ginny murmured, her voice thick.

Andi gave her a gentle squeeze before stepping back, her smile teary. "Anytime, Ginny." Andi hesitated for a moment, her expression turning uncertain. "Actually, Ginny," she continued cautiously, "I was wondering if I might reach out to your mother for tea sometime—if you think she'd be up for it."

Ginny cocked her head, her curiosity piqued. Then, as understanding dawned, her features softened into a warm smile. "I think that might be exactly what she needs right now," she said.

May 30, 1998

"It's official, Malfoy is a cockwomble," Vivienne Greaves declared. She shrugged off her leather jacket and bundled it into a makeshift pillow before flopping down into the grass of the Burrow's Quidditch pitch. 

"How was that ever still up for debate in your mind, Greaves?" Demelza asked. She sat down beside her with a packet of crisps and adjusted her sunglasses, leaning into the sun.

"He talked so much shit about your family for years , Ginny," Vivienne explained, flicking her short black hair out of her eyes. "But your mum is this secret badass, your dad is the nicest bloke I've ever met, all your brothers are fit—"

"Excuse me?" Ginny sputtered, struggling not to spill her butterbeer. "Which brother is this?" She cast a wary glance Hermione's way, but she didn't seem concerned. In fact, there was a pleased gleam in her eye. 

"All of them," Jocelyn Fairweather insisted. She sat up suddenly and gave Ginny a look like she had two heads. "Do you really not know?" She glanced around helplessly. "Hermione, tell her."

"Please no," Ginny begged. "I know I've teased you before. But please."

Hermione chewed her lip, seemingly fighting a grin. "I can't speak to all of her brothers," she began.

"Then don't," Ginny deadpanned.

Vivienne chuckled and reached for a butterbeer. "I'm just saying. After all the shit he talked, it turns out not only is your family way cooler than his—"

Jocelyn raised a bottle of lime-green Sylph-Spritz. "Here here!" She took three huge gulps, causing her fine, ash-blonde hair to stand on end for a moment. She shivered as the bubbles ran through her.

"But you have this great house and an awesome, supportive family, and he gets all shitty because you don't eat Mermaid Caviar and Unicorn Horn Fondue or whatever," Vivienne said.

"I think it had more to do with the fact that his whole bloody family were Death Eaters," Demelza added with a poignantly-timed spit. 

"Well fuck them then, too!" Jocelyn declared bluntly. Ginny glanced at her sideways. Jos was not usually one for bold declarations. "They can enjoy their Hippogriff Quiche in Azkaban."

A comfortable silence fell over them, sitting together in the sun, listening to the breeze and the birds.

"I'm so glad I got your floo-call yesterday. I've been bored out of my mind," Jocelyn said with a sigh. Beside her Vivienne murmured her agreement. "Mum grabbed me from Hogsmeade the night of the battle and we ran off to my cousin's place in Kilkenny. Hunkered down with the wireless waiting to hear what happened."

"Disapparated for my grandmum's cottage in the Cotswolds," Vivienne volunteered. There was a hint of regret in her voice, maybe something like shame. "We've been locked up tighter than Filch's arsehole since then.

Ginny blanched.

"Gross," Demelza muttered.

"Mum and Dad wouldn't even let me out to go to the funerals," Vivienne said, anger in her voice. "I tried telling them that if the Minister was there then nothing would happen, but…"

"Doesn't mean much, does it," Demelza muttered. "Not after the year we've had."

Ginny nodded. Their world had gone to shit with the assassination of the Minister for Magic, a former Auror and someone exceedingly well protected. A week without Voldemort would hardly have been enough time to accept the change for most people.

"I wish I'd stayed," Vivienne said, her voice bitter.

"No you don't," Hermione whispered. 

"You weren't of-age," Demelza said. "McGonagall wouldn't have let you stay anyway." She swirled her drink thoughtfully before taking a sip. "Mum almost lost it when I said I was staying. Dad still might try to sue her." 

"For what?" Ginny goggled.

Demelza rolled. "For respecting her of-age daughter's wishes," she said sarcastically. "And because he's a plonker." 

Ginny frowned and shot Demelza a sympathetic look, which she returned with a shrug. Demelza's parents had gone through a rather acrimonious divorce during their third year, and it seemed that even the threat of all-out war hadn't made them much more civil with one another. She supposed it didn't help that Demelza was still so much more like her mother than her father.

"He's still your dad though," Jocelyn said. 

Demelza winced, and conceded her point with a nod. Jocelyn's father had been killed during the first war before Jocelyn was even born. Like Harry, everything she knew about him had come second-hand. It made Ginny appreciate her own parents that much more, seeing how they'd stuck together through every difficult moment and supported one another when they were at their worst.

"I thought Luna was joining us," Hermione said, turning to Ginny.

"She said her dad isn't doing very well," Ginny said, remembering the letter she'd received the night before. "Azkaban was…"

"Do you think she feels bad that he turned us in?" Hermione asked.

"He what now?" Jocelyn gasped. "Xeno Lovegood turned? On Harry bloody Potter?"

Ginny winced. That part wasn't exactly public knowledge. "He didn't have much choice," she said quickly.

"The Malfoys had Luna locked up at their manor," Hermione explained. "Ron, Harry, and I freed her, Dean, and Mr. Olivander when we were taken there by Snatchers."

"What the shit?" Demelza goggled, she wheeled around on Ginny. "You didn't tell me that part."

"I say again: fuck the Malfoys," Jocelyn declared, her bottle of Spritz raised high again. There were murmurs of agreement all around.

"It's too bad Anya and Cora couldn't make it today," Vivienne said, clearly pushing for a subject change. 

"Studying for their sixth-year catchup," Demelza sighed.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.

"Of course that gets your attention," Demelza said with a roll of her eyes. 

Hermione stiffened defensively, but Ginny caught her eye and nodded with a smirk. "She doesn't mean anything by it," Ginny assured her. 

Demelza looked confused for a moment before realization dawned on her. "Oh, yeah. That's just what we do," she said. "Give each other shit, you know?" Hermione eyed her warily. "Are you telling me Harry and Ron never took the mickey out of you for all the studying you do?"

"They usually just complain," Hermione mumbled sheepishly. "Didn't stop them from trying to copy my essays though."

"Boys," Demelza and Vivienne said together with a roll of their eyes. 

"Cora and Anya are Muggle-born, too," Jocelyn said. "They managed to go into hiding last year. Not exactly sure where. But unless they want to be behind a year they've got a lot of work to do this summer. Like what happened with Hannah Abbot the year before." 

"They're cramming a whole year into three months?" Ginny asked. 

Demelza shrugged. "Guess so," she said. "Anya said they might have some extra tutoring, too, once the term starts just to make sure they're not behind." 

"I'm surprised you didn't go that route, Hermione," Jocelyn said. 

"Too much to do this summer," Hermione said with a sigh. "And I wouldn't be able to sit my N.E.W.T.s right away so I figured I might as well…" she trailed off with a shrug.

"Not looking forward to those," Vivienne muttered. "Especially Defense, with the way the Carrows taught it."

"Or didn't," Ginny quipped. Vivienne nodded disappointedly.

Demelza sighed dramatically. "Mum said she'd help me catch up," she said. "But I don't know how much time she'll have these days."

"She must be really busy."

"Lots of new clients," Demelza said with a nod. Her face went sour, "All of a sudden refusing to work those Muggle-baiting jobs is in vogue and everyone wants to hire her. Bloody hypocrites."

"Are you still looking to join her after we graduate?" Jocelyn asked. 

Demelza nodded. "Maybe not right away though," she said. "I want to show her and Dad that I can make it on my own merit, you know?"

"I'm considering dropping Defense," Jocelyn admitted, picking at the hem of her shirt awkwardly. "I know it's probably not my smartest idea given everything we've been through, but…" She shook her head. "I never really wanted to take N.E.W.T. level Defense anyway, and when the Carrows required it."

"You shouldn't force yourself to take something you don't enjoy," Hermione said. There were murmurs of agreement all around. "I learned that my third year."

"The time turner thing?" Ginny asked. Hermione nodded with a grimace.

"Time turner? What time turner?" Demelza asked. 

"Bit of a long story," Hermione muttered, shifting awkwardly. 

Demelza threw her arms up. "Merlin, were you three ever not getting into shit?"

Hermione frowned thoughtfully. "I suppose I never really thought of it that way. We just always seemed to be in the thick of it."

"Who do you think the new Defense Professor is going to be?" Jocelyn asked. "Can't be all that many qualified people left."

"I bet Bill could do it," Ginny said offhandedly. "I think he tutored for Defense some after his seventh year because their professor did such a piss-poor job." She shook her head.

"Think he'd tutor us?" Demelza asked hopefully. 

Ginny frowned. "He might not have the time. He's worried about getting back in Gringotts's good graces," she admitted. "Fleur might be able to though."

"She was a Tri-Wizard Champion," Jocelyn nodded.

"Fleur will be looking for work, I'm sure," Hermione pointed out. "But Harry could tutor you. He's not doing anything really until Auror training starts."

"I bet Harry's excited for some one-on-one tutoring sessions, right?" Demelza said teasingly. She dropped her voice to a comically-low octave, "Here, Ginny, try to Expelliarmus my wand." 

Hermione snorted loudly, and butterbeer came pouring down from her nose. She descended into a fit of coughing laughter.

Ginny grinned, glad to see Hermione able to relax around her friends. She knew Hermione hadn't had the best luck with friends outside Ron and Harry and would be struggling otherwise in the coming year if they weren't there.

"Do you think the position is still cursed?" Jocelyn wondered.

Ginny glanced at Hermione, who collected herself and shrugged. "Curses can last after a wizard's death," Ginny said tentatively. "That's why Bill was in Egypt, after all. But that also means those curses can be broken more easily without the wizard there to reaffix them."

"Guess we'll find out," Demelza said warily.

"Professor McGonagall is already interviewing teaching candidates for a few different positions," Hermione said. 

Demelza's eyes lit with realization. "That's right, you've been going to Hogwarts all week," she said. 

"What are you doing at Hogwarts?" Jocelyn asked.

"Research on memory charms," Hermione said with a grimace, but it slowly morphed into a wry grin. "It turns out all the precautions Madam Pince took actually ended up protecting the Library more than most other parts of the school. The shelves are enchanted to resist physical and magical damage, there are anti-fire wards, weather and environmental protection wards, self-repairing charms that fix minor book damage…she even showed me a cataloging spell that allows her to maintain a living inventory. It's really quite spectacular."

"Then why in Merlin's left nut did Pince always give us such a hard time?" Vivienne wondered with an exasperated groan. 

Hermione shrugged. as a thoughtful look fell across her face. "Probably the same reason Filch wanted everyone to clean the trophies by hand."

"What do you know about cleaning trophies?" Demelza asked. "Have you ever gotten detention?"

"I've been friends with Ron and Harry since first year," Hermione pointed out. 

"Point: Hermione," Vivienne said with a nod. 

"So…" Jocelyn began. She looked anxious. "How—how does it look?"

"Hogwarts?" Hermione asked. Jocelyn nodded. 

Hermione seemed to chew her words carefully. "Rough," she said, finally settling on an answer. "I feel guilty not helping but…"

Vivienne gave Hermione a sympathetic look. "How much help would we really be anyway," she sighed.

"You're talking to the woman who successfully broke into and out of Gringotts," Ginny said, grinning as Hermione blushed. "On a dragon."

Vivienne chuckled. "Okay, fine. But the rest of us?" she shrugged helplessly. "I think we're better off figuring out how we're going to pass N.E.W.T. Defense with the way last year went. Merlin, we're going to have a few new professors, aren't we?"

Hermione nodded. "Defense, Magical Theory, Transfiguration," she offered. "Professor McGonagall told me Hogwarts has never had to hire this many new staff members. I think she's even started looking for a new Potions Master."

"Really? No Slug Club?" Demelza asked, her eyes shining hopefully.

Ginny bit her lip. As annoying as some of that had been, she'd gotten to meet Gwenog Jones because of Professor Slug's connections. And those connections might come in handy if she were really looking to make a name for herself professionally. 

Hermione shrugged. "He says he's going to stay the year to make it easier for Professor McGonagall, but Professor Slughorn is definitely looking to retire again."

Ginny breathed a sigh of relief, hoping that the others hadn't noticed.

"Oh!" Hermione shot up. "And History of Magic."

"Binns retired?" Vivienne asked. "How does a ghost retire?"

"He didn't," Hermione said, leaning close. "He's just… gone ."

Vivienne goggled. "Really? Why? How? Where?" 

Hermione shrugged. "No one has seen him since the battle," she said. "But a blast destroyed his office. Professor Flitwick thinks that was enough to get him to…move on."

"Cora's going to flip!" Jocelyn exclaimed. "She always said he was wasting the class with all goblin rebellions. There's so much he never bothered covering that is really critical. Especially for Muggle-born students."

"Well I hope his replacement is a bit more progressive then," Hermione muttered. 

Demelza grinned. "And alive," she said. She glanced at Vivienne, "You still looking to join the Department of Magical Research and Development after we graduate?"

Vivienne nodded. "Yes, there are some internships that I had thought about applying for this summer. But I don't know what's even left of that department anymore," she said mournfully. 

Hermione seemed to perk up. "What's that?" she asked.

"They do a lot with advancing magical knowledge, developing new spells and magical devices," Vivienne said, "things like that. They work with a lot of other departments so there is usually a lot of opportunity to collaborate."

Hermione looked thoughtful. "And you, Demelza? You said you wanted to work in private security?"

"Mum runs HexShield . They specialize in magical protection services," Demelza explained. "They do everything from personal security to warding for private properties—basically, they make sure no one's getting in or out without permission. They have a whole team of HexWeavers who craft these multi-layered, complex wards. A lot of retired Aurors or Hit Wizards end up in the private sector."

"What about you, Jocelyn?" Hermione asked.

"I've always loved Herbology," Jocelyn said, her voice full of enthusiasm. "But lately, I've been thinking about how I could take it further—how I could make plants not just useful, but magical in a more therapeutic way. I want to blend the art of plant-growing with healing—creating gardens that are not just pretty but also help witches and wizards who suffer from magical ailments, like the after-effects of curses or spells gone wrong." She shrugged slightly, her eyes lighting up. "Imagine having a space, a garden, where the plants don't just look good—they've got magical properties to heal, soothe, or even just help people feel more at peace. It'd be like a sanctuary."

"You should've heard Jos and Neville talking about it all last year," Demelza said teasingly. She nudged Jocelyn's shoulder. "I thought the two of them were going to shag about a hundred different times."

"Neville never made a move," Jocelyn said with a sigh. "Too busy leading Dumbledore's Army with Ginny."

"Really?" Hermione asked. 

Ginny felt a stab of guilt as she nodded; she'd told Harry all about her year at Hogwarts under Snape and the Carrows. She'd told her parents, too. But she hadn't shared with Hermione or her brothers. A part of her assumed that Harry would tell them himself, except…Harry had barely spent a minute away from her ever since they'd returned to the Burrow.

Guilt turned into a grin. She shared a sympathetic look with Hermione, only to find a similar grin on Hermione's face. No regret, concern, or jealousy. Just an acknowledgment of how things were changing. 

Vivienne grinned teasingly. "Oh yeah, there were a ton of rumors. No one who knows either of them would believe it," she shrugged, "but you know how that stuff goes." 

"You and Neville?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"Oh, come one Hermione," Ginny rolled her eyes. "That would be like you and Harry."

"Ew," Hermione blanched, but her hand shot to her mouth. "Sorry, Ginny. I didn't—"

Ginny was already laughing. "Don't worry, Hermione, I get it," she said between giggles. "It's just funny to think about."

"What about you, Hermione?" Demelza asked. "What are you looking to do after Hogwarts? Other than becoming Minister for Magic."

Hermione's eyes lost focus and her brow furrowed as she considered the question. "I don't know yet. There are so many things I'm interested in," she said. "I love research—" 

Ginny couldn't hold in the knowing snort. Hermione shot her an annoyed look that Ginny supposed she'd become even more familiar with over the next year. 

"I love magic history, magical creatures, all of that," Hermione continued. "And I could see myself working in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."

"Like with that spew stuff?" Jocelyn asked.

"It's S.P.E.W. actually," Hermione corrected, sounding out each letter individually.

"That's an unbelievably unfortunate acronym," Jocelyn said. "Couldn't you change it?"

"I had already made the buttons and everything," Hermione said, a blush coloring her cheeks. "But I'm also thinking about more than just House Elves. There are a lot of non-human magical creatures that are treated quite unfairly. Especially after Voldemort."

"You'd need a new advocacy group name then," Demelza pointed out.

"I've been thinking something like 'Better Lives for Overworked Beings,'" Hermione mused, picking at the label on her bottle of butterbeer. "Overlooked Beings, maybe."

Demelza snorted. Hermione gave her an affronted look. "Hermione, that's B.L.O.B.— blob ."

Hermione's eyes went wide and her face went red. "That was just one idea," she muttered.

"What else you got?" Vivienne asked.

"Society for the Liberation and Integration of Magical Entities," Hermione said, her head held high.

"That's slime , Hermione," Demelza said. Ginny and Vivienne chuckled lightly.

"Defenders of Underrepresented Non-human Gentlefolk?" Hermione offered with just a pinch less confidence.

Demelza's brow furrowed for a beat. "Dung?" she goggled. Jocelyn sputtered and Ginny's hand flew to her mouth to keep from laughing too loudly.

Hermione groaned and fell back into the grass. "Looks like I'll need to put together an Acronym Revision and Selection Endeavor."

"Merlin, Hermione, that spells 'arse' !" Demelza groaned, rubbing the bridge of her nose. Vivienne snorted loudly. 

Ginny collapsed into a fit of giggles. "Hermione, how are you so bad at this?"

"I have other strengths," she mumbled. "Maybe I'll have someone else do it for me."

"The famous Hermione brain I've heard so much about finally makes an appearance!" Vivienne laughed.

Hermione chuckled ruefully and sat up straighter. "Part of me also wants to continue fighting for the rights of Muggle-borns. It's...important to me. Maybe it's selfish, but…especially now, you know?" She paused, almost as if unsure of how much she wanted to share, but then gave a small shrug. "I guess we'll see where the future takes me. I'm just not ready to settle on any one thing yet."

"You're going to be Minister by the time you're forty-five," Jocelyn said assuredly, flopping back onto the grass. "Mark my words."

"What about you, Gin-Gin?" Demelza asked.

"I dunno yet," Ginny said feigning nonchalance with a shrug. She cautioned a glance at Hermione, wondering if she'd figured things out or if Harry might have shared her plans. But Hermione only nodded understandingly, still lost in thought herself. "I'm keeping my options open."

Chapter Text

May 31, 1998

The Burrow was alive with the bustling, chaotic warmth that only a Weasley family dinner could bring. The long kitchen table groaned under the weight of a feast that would have made even Hogwarts' house-elves envious. Mrs. Weasley, armed with her wand and apron, orchestrated the evening like a conductor. She directed dishes to their final places while keeping a sharp eye on everyone's plate to ensure no one went hungry—or dared leave food behind.

Harry sat near the middle of the table, balancing Teddy Lupin on his lap while Andi listened with fascination to Fleur about the latest news from France. The baby, wide-eyed and curious, was entirely enraptured by Harry's glasses, making repeated grabs for them while Harry tried—unsuccessfully—to keep a straight face. Andi had sent Mrs. Weasley an owl asking her to Saturday tea, and after a quick back-and-forth Andi and Teddy ended up with invitations to the Burrow for Ron and Hermione's sendoff. 

Ginny leaned over, gently freeing Harry's glasses from Teddy's grasp and giving the infant her finger to hold instead. 

"You need to give Harry his glasses back, Teddy," she said gently. "Poor bloke can't see without them." There was a gurgled reply.

"I still think it's mad that I can regrow every bone in my arm but can't fix my eyesight," Harry grumbled, casting a quick cleaning charm on his smudged lenses.

"Eyes are very delicate," Andi said, turning to him, "extraordinarily complicated. Magic can be precise, but when it comes to something as intricate as vision, the risks often outweigh the rewards."

Harry tilted his head, intrigued. "But we can regrow bones. How is that not more complicated?"

A faint smile played on Andromeda's lips. "Bones are simple. They're structural, straightforward, at least compared to the complexity of an eye. The eye isn't just one thing. It's layers of tissue, muscles, nerves, and then there's the brain interpreting the signals. One spell might correct a problem, but it could just as easily disrupt something else entirely. Worst case? Permanent blindness or…hallucinating Hippogriffs every time you blink."

Harry frowned slightly, his fingers brushing the frame of his glasses. "I guess I never thought about it that way," he admitted. "Makes me appreciate these a bit more."

Andromeda's smile softened, warm and knowing. "Sometimes, the simplest solutions are the best ones. Besides, glasses suit you. They give you a certain…intellectual air."

Harry rolled his eyes, though he couldn't suppress a small grin. "Yeah, intellectual. That's definitely what people think when they see me."

Andromeda laughed softly, the sound filling the quiet kitchen as she returned to her book. "Don't underestimate the power of perception, Harry. Sometimes, how we see the world—and how the world sees us—can't be fixed by magic."

"Well said," Mr. Weasley said, tapping his own glasses and beaming down the length of the table. "Sometimes the only solution is time, hard work, and persistence." He seemed to take in the family he had before him and his eyes went misty.

The table fell quiet for a moment, save for the clinking of cutlery and Teddy's delighted babbling. It was George who broke the silence with a deliberate cough, his voice cutting through the hum of conversation.

"Speaking of hard work," he began, his tone lighter but his gaze flicking briefly to the empty chair beside him. It had remained untouched, though everyone's eyes seemed to stray to it at least once. "The grand reopening of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes is officially set for July first."

A cheer went up through the table, punctuated by a squeal of sound from Teddy that earned him a wave of laughter. Ginny bounced him on her lap, helping him clap his hands together.

"Wonderful," Mrs. Weasley said, reaching for George's hand. "I know you and Fred were so involved. Are you sure you'll be able to handle it all on your own?"

George's grin wavered for a moment, but he recovered quickly. "I asked Lee to come on and help," he said. Mrs. Weasley nodded appreciatively and busied herself with her food. Though Harry noticed her sigh of relief. "He's still working on a wireless program, but he says it's a bit inconsistent, so he's happy for some extra work."

He gave his parents a sheepish grin. "I hope you don't mind me staying here for a bit longer. The flat above the shop is still not exactly…livable ."

Mrs. Weasley waved off his concern. "Of course, of course. Whatever happened to that nice girl you had at the counter?" she asked. "Felicity, was it?"

"Verity," George corrected with a nod. "She'll be back, too." He broke into a sly grin. "And we'll have another Weasley on the payroll as well."

"Oh?" Mr. Weasley asked. He scanned the family curiously.

"Yes, well," Percy began awkwardly. He slid his glasses further up his nose. "A reopening like this is…extensive. And after the last year—well—you should have seen the state of their financial ledgers."

Mr. Weasley clapped Percy on the shoulder. "Good man." 

Percy's cheeks reddened as he waved off the praise. "It's only a bit of help—some evenings and weekends," he muttered, as though downplaying his involvement might lessen its weight.

Harry stifled a grin, recalling how Percy, not so long ago, would have eagerly trumpeted his role in such a venture. The change in him was stark, and Harry's heart ached at the guilt Percy must still be carrying since reconciling with his family.

"But," Percy continued, straightening as a flicker of his old self-confidence returned, "I've also taken a position with the Department of Magical Transportation."

"Have you now?" Mr. Weasley asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Yes, actually." Percy nodded, a hint of pride slipping into his voice. "I have Ron and Hermione to thank for it, in a way," he added, glancing toward them. "Their trouble getting approval from the Australian Ministry led to some conversations with the new department head, Oswin Halloway. We discussed ways to improve the system's integrity. He seemed quite taken with my suggestions and offered me the position on the spot."

"Well done, Percy," Mrs. Weasley said, her face glowing with pride. Among her children, Percy had always followed the most traditional career path, and it was clear she took comfort in his return to normalcy.

"Charlie," she added, turning to her second son, "any news on that dragon?"

"Still at large," Charlie replied, shrugging with a mixture of frustration and amusement. "She's a wily one—hides during the day, travels at night. Based on the size and description, we're fairly certain she's a Ukrainian Ironbelly." He shot Bill a mock-accusing look. "But Gringotts isn't exactly forthcoming with details."

Bill threw up his hands in mock surrender. "I'm just a curse-breaker here," he said. "Vaults and security are all managed by the goblins."

Charlie grinned and shrugged again. "Well we're calling in an expert from Slovakia" he said. His eyes had a faraway look to them. "This bloke is mad as a hatter. Practically lives with dragons year-round. No reservations or wards. No published papers or research. Talks to some dragonologists a few times a year and otherwise just…lives with dragons. Believes they're sacred ."

"Sounds like a nutter," Ron said warily.

Charlie laughed. "He might be. But he's a genius. I've heard he's got dragon skin grafts on his burns—actual scales."

"Really?" Andi asked, leaning forward.

"Sounds like you admire him," Percy said.

"Absolutely," Charlie said seriously. "We've been trying to locate the Gringotts dragon for a few weeks now. If I can pick this chap's brain for just an afternoon…" He trailed off, his eyes wide and dreaming.

"Yes…well," Mr. Weasley gave Charlie an amused look. "And you, Fleur?" He turned to her expectantly. "Are you looking to remain with Gringotts?"

Fleur shook her head. " Non , my internship ended even before ze war. And I was mostly using zat to improve my English." She gave Bill a fond look. "And flirt wiz 'andsome British men. I was 'oping Beel would come wiz me to France to visit my family now zat everyzing is more…settled."

"Oh, Bill, you really should," Mrs. Weasley scolded her son gently. "Fleur has been so wonderful about everything."

Harry found himself marveling at the shift in their relationship. It wasn't so long ago that Mrs. Weasley had barely concealed her reservations about Fleur. Now, her tone carried the affection of a mother speaking to a favored daughter. Harry caught Ginny's eye across the table and saw the same thought reflected in her amused smile.

"I've been talking with my bosses about a possible transfer to the French office," Bill admitted, running a hand through his long hair. "They've got some fascinating work in the Catacombs of Paris. Not quite Egypt, but still plenty to keep me busy."

"Wonderful," Mrs. Weasley said with a nod. 

Bill hesitated, his expression turning thoughtful. "It would mean being farther away from all of you, though. I've been…reluctant to make the move."

"I know, dear, but you can't put your lives on hold for everyone else," Mrs. Weasley assured him. 

Harry couldn't help but admire Mrs. Weasley's strength. After all they'd been through, her unwavering support and willingness to let go of her children seemed nothing short of extraordinary.

"Speaking of moving on," Mr. Weasley interjected, puffing his chest with a smile, "I have some news myself. I'll be returning to my old job as Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office!"

There was a beat of silence before Percy broke it. "I thought for certain Kingsley would have you back at the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects," he said, his tone bordering on incredulous.

"Oh, he offered," Mr. Weasley replied with a hint of scandalous glee. "But I turned him down. During the war, it felt necessary, but now…I miss my old office. Feels like going home, in a way."

Harry watched Percy closely, noting the crease forming on his brow. He could almost see the conflict between the old, status-conscious Percy and the more self-aware man who had returned to his family. Finally, the younger Weasley's expression softened, and he nodded.

"I think I understand," Percy said quietly, his gaze sweeping over the table. Harry didn't miss the subtle, proud smile Mr. Weasley sent his son's way.

"Mum, with everyone out of the house what are you planning?" Charlie asked tentatively.

Mrs. Weasley gave him a sharp look, her brows arching. "This isn't the first time you lot have been off gallivanting," she said briskly. "I'll manage just fine, thank you."

"Harry and I are still here," Ginny interjected with a grin, but Charlie waved her off.

"Your mother has very generously offered to help watch Teddy while I'm working," Andromeda said, casting Mrs. Weasley a grateful smile.

"I would've—" Harry started, but Mrs. Weasley cut him off with a knowing look.

"Have you ever changed a nappy, Harry?" she asked, her tone deceptively sweet.

Harry hesitated, opening his mouth and closing it again without a proper response. "I can learn," he muttered.

Mrs. Weasley shook her head with a chuckle. "I thought not. You're welcome to come along and learn—Merlin knows Teddy will love the attention—but you'll be starting with the Aurors soon. And…" She reached across the table, gently plucking Teddy from Ginny's lap and cradling him against her shoulder. "This little wizard and I will have plenty to keep us busy, won't we?" She gave Teddy a playful bounce, eliciting a delighted giggle. "I'm happy to have the distraction, truth be told."

"Bugger," George said, scratching his chin. "I was hoping to ask if you'd lend a hand at the shop when Lee's out."

Mrs. Weasley glanced at him, her expression entirely unruffled. "And why shouldn't I? I can manage both."

"But if you're watching Teddy—"

"Have you lot forgotten," Mrs. Weasley interrupted, fixing him with a pointed look, "that I raised every single one of you while tending the garden, cooking meals, and looking after the animals?" She folded her arms with an exaggerated frown. "Multitasking is hardly a foreign concept to me."

George grinned, leaning back in his chair. "Fair point," he admitted. His gaze shifted to Teddy, who was now happily chewing on the hem of Mrs. Weasley's sleeve. "​​I suppose Teddy might end up being a good hand with the shop. Start him young, you know."

"Brilliant idea," Ginny teased. "Exploding nappies—your best product yet."

The table burst into laughter, Mrs. Weasley included, though she muttered something about "cheeky children" under her breath. Teddy, oblivious to the fuss, merely gurgled with delight.

"You know, George," Andi began. "I've been meaning to have a word with you about your products."

Harry's ears perked up at the declaration. Andi's face was rather controlled, but if she was anything like Sirius, Harry knew she could be fiercely protective of her family. And if Teddy was indeed going to be spending that much time at George's shop…

"Oh?" George asked tentatively. Harry felt a pang of sympathy for George; Andi looked remarkably like Beatrix and Narcissa. Her resemblance to her sisters was undeniable, the same sharp cheekbones and aristocratic features marked her as a Black. It could be frightening to those less familiar with her, but Harry could already notice the differences: it was her eyes. Where Bellatrix's had been wild and Narcissa's shrewdly calculating, Andi's carried a quiet kindness, as if life had softened her rather than twisted or hardened her. 

"Specifically, your use of Grindylow secretions," Andi continued. 

Harry frowned. Of all possible directions, this was the absolute last he expected the conversation to move in.

"Ah, my secret weapon for sticky, gooey mayhem! It's the backbone of most of our slime-based gags," George nodded proudly. "What about it?" 

"Well, I've seen firsthand what your products can do. Some of my emergency healer colleagues encountered more than a few cases that involved misappropriation of your products," Andi explained. "It leaves quite a mess behind with very few readily-available solvents."

George frowned awkwardly. "Well…not to be rude mind you, but that's sort of…the point?" he offered lamely. 

Andi smiled, and suddenly looked nothing like either of her sisters. "Fair, of course," she admitted. "But in emergency cases it leaves us scrambling to remove it rather than address the underlying issue for our patients."

George grimaced and Mrs. Weasley shot him an annoyed look. "Yeah," he drawled. "That's…understandable."

"Are there any ingredients that could substitute?" Hermione asked. 

"Plenty," George admitted, carding a hand through his hair. "But they've all got the same issue, don't they? We went with Grindylow ooze because—all things considered—it's rather harmless."

"True, but consider Flobberworm mucus," Andi suggested, sitting forward and tenting her fingers together. "Similar consistency once you boil it down, behaves in much the same way, but significantly easier to clean up. A solution of mirebloom essence breaks it down entirely."

"Really?" George asked, leaning forward in his seat. "Flobberworm mucus?"

"Before the widespread use of dittany most healers used it to treat and seal wounds much the same way that Muggle doctors used stitching," Andi explained.

"Oh! Stitchings! I had those," Mr. Weasley exclaimed proudly. "Fascinating inventions. Terribly itchy though."

Andi nodded. "It's far less irritating to skin and surfaces, and unlike Grindylow secretions, it won't bond to fabric or create toxic fumes when heated," she pointed out. 

"Toxic fumes? Oh, come now, the fumes aren't that bad," George scoffed playfully. "They're only mildly…suffocating."

"George!" Mrs. Weasley scolded. 

Harry watched as Mr. Weasley chewed his bottom lip to keep from laughing. Even Percy and Hermione were watching the exchange with amusement. For a moment Harry was reminded of all the Weasley dinners he had been to before the war had torn everything apart.

"Alright, alright, no toxic fumes," George sighed dramatically, as if it were the most outrageous concession in the world. "So Flobberworm mucus, eh? Not going to lie, that's going to be harder to market. Doesn't sound quite as exciting as Grindylow slime either."

"It may not sound exciting, but it's practical and easier to source," Andi countered. She gave him a pointed look. "And I guarantee you'll get fewer complaints from healers trying to un-stick people from walls, clothing, furniture, and themselves. Most of us are familiar with Flobberworm mucus applications."

George frowned. "I bet I could get Hagrid to help me out with sourcing," he murmured. He gave Andi an appraising look. "I suppose I could give it a go. Though, if this ruins the fun factor of our Perpetual Pudding Pile, I'm blaming you."

Andi laughed. "Naturally," she said. 

As the evening wore on the lively chatter around the table slowly quieted. Plates and cups were cleared, save for the odd crumb or splash of wine, and the remnants of dessert sat enticingly on the table, though no one seemed to have room for another bite.

Teddy had grown fussy despite the careful attention of everyone around him. Andi, with a practiced ease, gathered him into her arms and rose from her seat. "I think that's my cue to say goodnight," she said with a soft smile, adjusting Teddy's blanket.

Mrs. Weasley reached over to pat her hand. "You did wonderfully to stay as long as you did, love. Thank you for coming."

"Thank you for having us, and for helping with Teddy," Andi replied warmly. She paused to glance around the table. "It was wonderful to see you all. I'll see you two next Friday?" Her gaze lingered meaningfully on him and Ginny. Harry nodded with a grin, and saw Andi and Teddy off via the Floo.

A contemplative silence settled over the table, broken only by the occasional clink of silverware as the last bits were tidied away. 

"I theenk I weel 'ead 'ome," Fleur said, rising gracefully from her seat. She smoothed her robes with a practiced elegance and leaned down to kiss Bill on both cheeks, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders. "'Beel, I weel see you when you get back. Send a Patronus eef you are going to be too late." She gave him a knowing look. 

Bill smiled, his hands briefly covering hers. "Will do, love."

Fleur gave a nod to the room. With a flick of her wand, she summoned her cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders. Moving to the hearth, she took a pinch of Floo powder from the bowl on the mantel, threw it into the flames, and stepped gracefully into the green glow.

"Shell Cottage!" she called, her voice clear and melodic. With a swirl of emerald sparks, she was gone.

Bill watched the fire for a moment before stretching lazily in his chair, his hands clasped behind his head. Then, leaning forward, he fixed Charlie with a knowing look, a gleam of mischief sparking in his eyes.

"Right," he said, his voice cutting through the quiet. "Orchard?"

Charlie nodded thoughtfully and rose as well. The rest of the Weasley siblings all turned to him with varying degrees of curiosity and caution.

"That means all of you," Bill added, his gaze sweeping over the table. His tone was cheerful but commanding, leaving no room for argument.

"Why?" Ginny asked from beside Harry. She arched an eyebrow warily.

Bill grinned, his face wrinkling at the edges of his scars. "Because," he replied cryptically, pushing back his chair and standing with an exaggerated stretch, "we haven't had a proper Weasley Sibling Meeting in ages." 

Harry glanced curiously at Hermione shrugging helplessly, but Hermione looked equally puzzled. He'd known the Weasleys for nearly eight years at this point and this was the first he'd ever heard of a "Weasley Sibling Meeting." 

"And since some of us are about to jet off to Australia," Charlie added, giving Ron and Hermione a mock-scandalized look, "we figured now's the perfect time to revive the tradition."

"Well…have fun?" Harry said uncertainly, catching Ron's eye. Ron, however, looked every bit as baffled as Harry felt.

Bill and Charlie exchanged a knowing look. "That means you two as well," Charlie said, pointing at Harry and Hermione.

Harry hesitated, a faint pang of discomfort flickering through him as he realized that Fleur had not been offered the same invitation. 

"You two were Weasley siblings long before you started dating these goofs," Bill teased affectionately, smiling as if he could sense Harry's worries.

"And we like you better, so there's that," George added with a smirk, leaning back in his chair.

Harry glanced at Ginny, searching her face for some clue as to how she felt about all this, but she didn't seem to share his unease. Her eyes narrowed playfully at Bill and George, and she rose from her seat with a dramatic sigh.

Hermione stood awkwardly, chewing her bottom lip. "Are you sure?" she asked tentatively. "We don't want to intrude. We can help tidy up instead."

"You might as well accept it," Mr. Weasley said, his eyes twinkling with pride. He glanced at Mrs. Weasley, who was beaming as she began clearing plates with her wand. "You're both honorary Weasleys at this point."

Harry hesitated for a moment, then nodded. He followed Ginny toward the back door and stepped out into the cool evening where the rest were waiting for them. The sounds of the dinner cleanup faded behind them, replaced by the rustle of leaves and the occasional chirp of a cricket. 

Bill conjured a firepit and some outdoor chairs, arranging them with a casual wave of his wand. A pointed motion from George ignited the flames and cast the group in a warm orange light. The older Weasley siblings took their seats around the fire and leaned back with an assortment of contented sighs. 

George was the first to notice Harry and Hermione lingering just outside the circle of siblings. He raised a dramatic hand to his chest, his voice loud and mockingly scandalized.

"Well, well, what's this? Hesitating at the threshold of greatness? I expected better, Potter, Granger. You've been promoted to Weasley-sibling status for ages now. And here you are, acting like you need a written invitation."

"Are you sure?" Hermione asked tentatively. She glanced back to the Burrow. "I feel bad excluding Fleur from—"

"Fleur is fine," Bill assured her, grinning fondly. "I love her, but this isn't her scene. Sometimes it's good to keep your interests separate." He glanced pointedly at Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione. "It gives you more to talk about later." 

Hermione crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. "We were being polite."

"Polite?" George repeated, his voice dripping with feigned disbelief. "Oh no, that's not how this works. Weasley gatherings are all about barging in, eating too much, and making terrible jokes at everyone else's expense."

Harry smirked. "Sounds like your department, then."

"Exactly!" George grinned, clapping his hands together. "So stop hovering and get in here before we revoke your honorary ginger cards. Tonight you're Weasleys."

At that, Harry and Hermione finally stepped forward, joining the circle of siblings in the firelight. George gave them an approving nod as they did. "That's more like it," he said. 

"So…what is all this?" Ron asked, eyeing his older brothers warily from his seat.

Bill shot Charlie a grin. "This is your birthright," he said with a chuckle, producing a bottle of Firewhiskey from his magically-extended pocket. "Charlie and I started this when he came of-age. Just a way to get a break from the kid stuff, you know?"

"Ouch," Ginny muttered.

"You were a handful," Bill said. He shot George a teasing glare, "Some more than others." He immediately seemed to regret calling attention to the Fred-George duo, but George managed a tight smile. Bill took a pointed drink of Firewhiskey and raised the bottle high.

"It's called 'talent,' oh eldest brother of mine," George tried playfully, with a smile that Harry didn't fully buy.

Bill cleared his throat and took another swig from the bottle before passing it to Charlie. "Anyway," Charlie said, taking a drink himself and coughing slightly at the burn, "we kept it going when Percy came of age. Then George—and Fred, too, of course." His voice hitched slightly on Fred's name, but he plowed on.

Harry's brow furrowed as he tried to place the twins' coming-of-age birthday. He realized it must have been during the summer before his fifth year—the summer he'd spent stuck with the Dursleys while the Weasleys had been divided by Percy's estrangement.

"That gathering was a bit more tense," Percy said, his attention fixed awkwardly on a chip in the wood of his chair. "That was…my fault." 

Charlie handed the Firewhiskey bottle over to Percy and clapped him on the back. "We never got to read Ron in on the tradition last year," he said, brushing past the issue. "And now with everything going on. With all of us heading off our own ways…Bill and I thought we should bring it together again."

"Hang on," Ron interrupted, frowning. "Ginny's not even of age."

Ginny kicked his shin and glared at him pointedly.

"Well, you're not!" he insisted, looking around the fire for some support.

"Close enough," Charlie said with a shrug.

Bill shook his head. "She fought Bellatrix Lestrange. She gets to join."

"Bloody well bet I do!" Ginny declared. She snatched the Firewhiskey bottle from Percy, took a bold swig, and immediately turned pink as a trail of steam curled from her mouth. "I deserve a fucking cake!"

"The only one of us even remotely qualified to bake you an 'I fought Bellatrix Lestrange' cake is Mum," George pointed out, accepting the bottle from her graciously. "And she's the one who actually beat her."

"I know how to bake a little. I could do it," Harry volunteered, to a collective eye-roll from the Weasleys. 

"Oh, brilliant," Charlie said with mock enthusiasm. "The Boy Who Lived and now The Boy Who Bakes. You'll have Mum crowing for years!" His voice climbed an octave as he mimicked their mother. "Oh, Charlie, why can't you be a good son like Harry? He doesn't run off to Romania. He saved the world and still sets the table for dinner every night."

"You call that Mum?" George scoffed with a roll of his eyes. He cleared his throat and raised his voice as well. "Harry and Hermione are such good children. I will reward them with treacle tart and knitted jumpers."

The laughter that erupted from the siblings felt warm and easy, a welcome break from the somber notes of the evening. Harry couldn't help but laugh along as he accepted the bottle from George. He took a careful sip, the fiery liquid blazing a path down his throat and spreading warmth through his chest like a rogue heating charm.

"Don't worry, Ginny takes care of all the rewards Harry needs," Hermione said under her breath.

Harry nearly inhaled the Firewhiskey, coughing and spluttering gracelessly. The siblings erupted into a cacophony of protests and exaggerated groans.

"Oi! Tonight is not about that," Charlie declared, his tone firm as he wagged a disapproving finger. "Tonight you're Weasleys." He fixed Harry and Hermione with a pointed glare. "You're not dating. Not tonight. So we don't want to hear about any of that." He turned his glare to Ron and Ginny. "From either of you."

"I still haven't done anything to deserve being kicked or yelled at," Ron protested. 

This protest, of course, did nothing to spare him from further jabs at his expense. But Harry noticed something different this time. The teasing wasn't limited to Ron, nor was it sharp or pointed—it was easy, lighthearted, and, above all, shared equally among the siblings. Even Percy, who had once been so rigid and distant, joined in with a dry quip that sent George into peals of laughter.

The war was over, and with it had gone the cracks and tensions that had splintered the family. Now, they were mending, stronger and closer than ever. 

And—once again—they had included him.

Harry felt the familiar warmth spreading through his chest again, only this time he knew it had nothing to do with the Firewhiskey.

"I have something to say," Percy declared abruptly, rising to his feet. His face was red, and he swayed slightly, steadying himself on the back of his chair. "The last time we did this… well…" He paused, struggling to string the words together. "I owe you all an apology."

The mood around the fire sobered, despite the Firewhiskey. Ginny had drawn her knees up to her chest. Ron seemed to be looking everywhere except at Percy. Bill and Charlie were staring into the fire. Only George seemed to manage to look at Percy.

"I was awful to you—all of you," Percy continued, his fists clenched at his sides. "To Mum and Dad… to the family. All you ever wanted was to stand together, and I—I walked away. I betrayed you." His voice cracked, and he turned to Harry, his eyes glassy. "And you, Harry. I doubted you. After everything you'd done for my family."

Harry shifted uncomfortably, his instinct to protest rising. "Percy, it's—"

But Percy raised a hand, cutting him off. "No. Let me finish." He wiped his eyes roughly with his sleeve, drawing a shaky breath. "The first thing Mum and Dad told me when they brought you two home after you were born," he said, his voice trembling as he looked at George, and Harry knew he was talking about Fred too, "was that I was your big brother. That it was my responsibility to look after you, to protect you. Like Bill and Charlie looked after me." His voice broke, and he let out a bitter laugh. "And I failed. I let you all down."

George stood, his face unreadable as he crossed the circle. On the way, he plucked the Firewhiskey bottle from Bill's loose grip. He stopped in front of Percy, looking at him intently, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "Well," George began, his voice uncharacteristically soft, "Fred forgave you."

Percy flinched as though the name had struck him, but George didn't look away. "You were there with him at the end," George continued. "You stood with him. And you finally told a joke worth laughing at." A faint, bittersweet smile tugged at George's lips as he raised the bottle high. "So…welcome home, Percy."

Percy's composure shattered. Tears spilled freely as he pulled George into a fierce embrace, his arms trembling. "I never got to tell him," Percy choked out, his voice thick with grief. "So I'll tell you—how proud I was of you both. That you did something so outrageous and made it work. That you built something incredible. It drove me mad," he admitted with a raw, strangled laugh. "Because I could never have done that. I'd have been terrified . But you did it. And I was so proud. I just never told him."

George sniffed, his own tears threatening to spill over. "Perce," he said, his voice tight, "it's okay."

"It's not," Percy whispered, his breath hitching as he fought to steady himself. "He was," he sucked in a shuddering breath, "my little brother."

Percy all but collapsed, sobbing into George's shoulder. George held him tightly, one hand gripping Percy's back, the other clutching the bottle of Firewhiskey. Harry didn't know what to do—his instinct was to look away, to give Percy privacy in his grief—but before he could, the Weasleys were moving.

Before Harry even realized it, the rest of the Weasleys were forming a circle around Percy and George, and without thinking, Harry found himself drawn into their embrace. Whether it was his own doing or because someone had tugged him in, he couldn't be sure, but suddenly he was enveloped in more arms and warmth than he'd ever experienced in his life. It was almost overwhelming to be part of it—the weight of their shared sorrow, the strength of their bond—but in that moment, Harry felt that he belonged.

When the family finally pulled apart, there was a sense of ease among them, a quiet understanding that didn't need words. Harry kept his arm around Ginny, and this time her brothers didn't seem to mind. In fact, none of them seemed to notice. The Firewhiskey bottle continued its journey around the circle, though Harry had a sneaking suspicion someone was magically refilling it.

The conversation picked up again, lighter now, with Charlie leaning forward to share an increasingly animated story about the dragon expert coming to consult. Harry found himself laughing as Ron launched into a dramatic retelling of their Divination classes, complete with exaggerated impressions of Trelawney and increasingly grim—and absurd—fates he and Harry had predicted for each other.

"Do you think she'd go back and revise my grade now knowing that I was right about all the suffering we were going to go through?" he asked, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Bloody hell, I was even right about you dying!"

Harry rolled his eyes, letting out an exaggerated scoff. He realized, with a flicker of surprise, how little the mention of his death rattled him now. The rest of the Weasleys chuckled, their laughter a second slower, as if gauging his reaction before joining in.

George cleared his throat, leaning forward with a slightly unsteady sway. "That reminds me," he said, his words slurred just enough to reveal the Firewhiskey's effects. He shook his head as if to clear it. "Harry…why do you reckon Fred wasn't there with you that night in the forest? I just—" He hesitated, glancing briefly at Ginny before returning his gaze to Harry. "I keep thinking about it."

The laughter faded, leaving a charged silence. Harry felt the weight of their stares. Even Ginny had shifted in his lap, her eyes searching his face.

"I don't know," Harry admitted, the words heavy as they left his mouth. "I don't know how the stone decides who to call…or if it even decides at all." He glanced at the fire, his thoughts drifting. He'd really not spared a lot of thought to who had come to see him and why . He'd seen them at peace when they'd come to collect him. That had been enough to put him at ease. "I've lost so many people. Maybe it only called the ones I needed most at that moment."

George's brow furrowed deeply, conflict flickering across his face. "And you didn't need Fred?" he asked, his voice raw.

Harry shrugged helplessly. "Maybe…or maybe Fred would've reminded me too much of everyone I was leaving behind," he said quietly, though even he wasn't sure if he believed it. He stared into the flames, words forming on his tongue as an idea began to take shape. "Maybe seeing him would've made me lose my nerve. I really don't know, George."

"But what do you think?" Hermione's voice was soft, but her gaze was piercing. "If this were last year, if we were still trying to figure it all out—needed something to go on—what would you say?"

Harry took a steadying breath, letting his mind wander to those long, intense hours spent in Dumbledore's office, piecing together truths that often felt like guesses; the feeling that sometimes belief in the answers were enough. He stared hard into the fire, imagining Dumbledore's office and the whirling devices. 

"When they came for me, I didn't have to explain anything. They knew, like they'd been with me. Maybe even the entire time," he said slowly, his voice gaining strength. "I think—I'd like to think—that the stone maybe just showed me the ones who were with me at that time. That it didn't force anyone else to come to me if they were needed somewhere else."

George's face twisted, pain etched into every line. His voice, thick with emotion, cracked as he spoke. "Where could Fred possibly have needed to be more?" he asked, the desperation in his words cutting through Harry like a knife.

The answer came to Harry as easily as breathing, as if it had been waiting for him all along. He met George's eyes across the fire, his voice steady and sure. "Isn't it obvious? With you."

For a long moment, the only sound was the crackling of the fire and the distant rustle of the trees in the orchard. George stared at Harry, his expression unreadable, before a small, pained smile ghosted across his face. He looked down at the Firewhiskey bottle in his hands and raised it high.

"To Fred," he said, his voice stronger now, carrying over the stillness.

"To Fred," the others echoed, their voices a chorus of warmth and grief. The bottle passed from hand to hand again, and each of them took a sip in silent tribute. 

After a while, the circle began to dissolve. Bill and Charlie rose first, muttering something about early mornings and not wanting to face Fleur or the dragon search in their current states, respectively. Percy helped George to his feet, their arms slung over each other's shoulders. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley appeared at some point, bustling quietly as they herded the others back toward the house, offering blankets and soft words for those who lingered.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny remained where they were as the fire burned lower. The air was cooler now, as the warmth of the day gave way to the crispness of the night. The orchard felt quieter, as though it were holding its breath, listening to the unspoken things that hung between the four of them. Ginny leaned her head against Harry's shoulder, her hair tickling his neck. Hermione rested her chin on her knees, gazing into the embers with Ron's arms around her.

"Feels strange," Ron murmured, breaking the silence. "Having everyone together like this. Like—like we're all trying to move on together, but still saying goodbye. I think…" he cautioned a glance at Hermione, "I think I'm only just starting to realize it's over."

"The hard part comes next," Harry said, his eyes locked on the flames. "Living. It's harder. 

"It'll always be there," Hermione said softly, glancing up at him. "But so will this. Nights like this. Laughing together, remembering. That's how we keep going."

Ginny stirred beside Harry, her voice quiet but steady. "It's how we make sure it mattered. That it all meant something."

Harry didn't say anything, but he reached for Ginny's hand, lacing his fingers through hers. He felt the weight of Ron's gaze and turned to meet it, nodding once. Ron nodded back, a flicker of understanding passing between them. They had survived, all of them, and now they had to live.

The fire crackled softly, sending sparks drifting into the night sky, and the four of them sat together in companionable silence, watching as the stars began to emerge above the treetops.

June 1, 1998

The Leaky Cauldron was bustling with its usual midday crowd, witches and wizards squeezing through the narrow tables, their conversations punctuated by the occasional clink of glasses or the rustle of robes. Harry and Ginny slipped into a corner booth, Ginny brushing a strand of red hair behind her ear as she scanned the room.

"That went better than I expected," she said, glancing at the door as though Ron and Hermione might reappear at any moment. "Mum barely cried, and Dad didn't even mention protective enchantments."

"I'm more surprised they didn't mention other protective spells," Harry replied, smirking. 

Ginny laughed softly. "I'm just relieved they're finally going. Hermione's been worrying about her parents for weeks, and Ron—well, she's been great to him—to all of us—through everything."

Harry chuckled, though his thoughts lingered on the farewell. Seeing Ron and Hermione leave had stirred something inside him—a nervous ache he couldn't quite name.

"You didn't tell him about the spiders, right?" he asked, looking at her over his menu

Ginny fixed him with a raised eyebrow.

"Spiders. In Australia," Harry offered, fighting a grin. "Apparently even the non-magical ones are absolutely horrifying." 

Ginny grinned wildly, as if imagining Ron's horrified expression at a continent absolutely rife with spiders and crawling things. Harry felt marginally guilty withholding that information from Ron, but Hermione had confided in him and practically begged him not to tell Ron. Besides, how likely were they to really come upon something dangerous?

Harry glanced up just as the door swung open and a familiar figure stepped inside. "Hang on—is that Neville?"

Ginny turned, her face lighting up. Sure enough, Neville Longbottom was weaving his way through the tables, his round face breaking into a grin as he spotted them. Beside him, Hannah Abbott followed, her blonde hair tucked neatly into a low ponytail.

"Neville!" Ginny called, waving him over.

Neville's grin widened as he approached, Hannah trailing behind with an easy smile. "Harry, Ginny—fancy seeing you here!"

"We could say the same to you," Harry said, standing to greet him with a firm handshake. "What brings you two to London?"

Hannah spoke up, her tone cheerful. "I've been working here at the Leaky since…" Harry and Ginny nodded quickly in understanding, allowing Hannah to push quickly past it. 

Neville nodded and added quickly, "And I've been at the Ministry all morning. Thought we'd grab lunch before heading back."

"Well, sit with us," Ginny offered, sliding over to make room. "Unless you have other plans."

Neville hesitated for a moment, glancing at Hannah, who shrugged with a smile. "Why not?" he said, pulling out a chair. "It's been too long."

As they settled in, the hum of the pub seemed to fade slightly. Harry found himself relaxing for the first time that day, the knot in his chest loosening as they began to talk. Harry and Ginny told Neville about fixing up the Burrow, running Quidditch drills, and Ron and Hermione heading to Australia. Neville, meanwhile, recounted his rather eventful month. He had begun working himself hard getting ready for Auror training and had been attending Wizengamot meetings with his grandmother, as she'd demanded he do to learn the specifics of British Wizarding Law if he were going to represent the Longbottom family as an Auror.

"I can't always tell whether she's proud or furious with me," Neville admitted awkwardly. "Even when she's proud she sounds angry." He shook his head. "It was almost easier when she was stoically disappointed."

Harry wanted, momentarily, to offer his sympathies. But he caught the ghost of a smirk fighting its way onto Neville's face. Beside him, Hannah was beaming.

"He secretly loves it," she said fondly. 

Neville smiled sheepishly and held her gaze. Harry shot Ginny a curious look but she looked at him with wide eyes and shrugged.

Harry coughed gently. Neville's head whipped around, his cheeks pink. Harry fought a fond grin of his own.

"Just remember that the person she's proud of now is the same person you've always been," Harry said. "People are just finally starting to see it."

"I don't know how you do it, Harry," Neville admitted, looking at Harry in an embarrassing amount of awe. "Last year was the hardest year of my life." Harry nodded his understanding. "But I just kept reminding myself that all this shit we were dealing with, you'd been dealing with since we were eleven."

"Neville, I—"

Neville held up a hand. "Just, let me say it and we can pretend that I didn't, okay?" he asked with a hopeful grimace. Harry nodded with a teasing roll of his eyes. 

"Knowing you…that you could do it all these years, that you were still out there fighting —it gave me the courage to keep fighting myself," Neville said. "It helped me believe I could do it."

"You were always capable of it," Harry insisted, remembering first-year Neville threatening to fight them when they went after the Sorcerer's Stone. 

Neville nodded sharply. "I know that now," he said. "I'm just—I'm glad you kept fighting." Harry nodded with a smile. 

"Harry. You bloody did it!" Hannah said, grinning widely. 

Harry felt the heat rise up his neck. "I think we all did," he said with a tight smile. 

Hannah rolled her eyes. She met Ginny's with a grin. "What is it with you Gryffindor boys? I thought for sure you'd be trying to one-up each other."

"If you're looking for that we'll have to bring Ron, Seamus, and err—Ron and Seamus," Neville stuttered lamely, glancing worriedly to Ginny.

"You can say Dean's name, it's not taboo," Ginny grinned, chuckling as Hannah swatted Neville's arm playfully. 

"Sorry," Neville said with a grimace. "For a second there though it was nice just to think about the normal school drama."

"You're only saying that because you don't have to go back next year," Ginny grumbled playfully.

"I dunno about that," Neville muttered wryly. "Auror training is starting to sound like a Class of '98 reunion."

That got Harry's attention. "Really?" he asked, sitting straighter in his seat. 

Neville nodded. "It's me, Seamus, Ernie, Sue Bones, Terry Boot, Anthony Goldstein, Michael Corner—"

"Michael wants to be an Auror?" Ginny goggled. She frowned. "That's…I didn't see that coming. I thought he wanted to practice law, not enforce it."

"I think last year changed a lot," Neville admitted.

"He did step up," Ginny said, nodding reluctantly. "Still kind of a prat though."

"Oh, he's the least of my worries," Neville grumbled, looking around cautiously. "McLaggen is supposedly joining."

Harry sputtered, feeling like he'd been punched in the gut. "He's going to kill me," Harry muttered. "He's not even going to mean it. He almost did it in a Quidditch match—on the same team!"

"So it's true," Neville said, his eyes lighting up. "You're joining the Aurors too."

Harry nodded firmly and quickly related how he'd come to the decision. "The only hesitation I had was the chance to spend more time with Ginny at Hogwarts," he admitted sheepishly. 

"Aww," Hannah cooed gently. She gave Neville a soft smile. "They're adorable."

"So are you two apparently," Harry pointed out with a grin, gesturing to the two of them. 

"When did this start?" Ginny asked. 

Harry let out a breath—at least he wasn't the only one out of the loop.

Neville's brow furrowed. "You didn't know?" he asked, before realization dawned. "That's right, you didn't come back after Easter." He settled back in his seat and turned to Hannah. "Once word got back about that…" He shrugged and grinned. "I guess I finally found some of that Gryffindor courage."

"And you've just been…going to lunch with Hannah and sitting in on Wizengamot meetings with your grandmum?" Ginny asked. 

Neville shrugged. "The meetings aren't so bad. A bit dry sometimes, I suppose," he said. "But it's keeping me up to date with everything that's going on looking for the leftover Death Eaters."

Harry nodded grimly. 

Hannah offered a weak smile. "But we meet up with everyone a few times a week for dinner and drinks—usually at least Friday—either here or in Muggle London," she said. Her eyes lit up. "You two should come!"

Ginny gave him an eager look and he nodded. She turned back to Hannah with a grin. "Yes. Sounds brilliant." 

Hannah grinned widely. "I think we're meeting tomorrow?" She gave Neville a tentative look, but he just grimaced and shrugged. Hannah rolled her eyes playfully before turning back to Harry and Ginny. "We'll meet tomorrow. After the Ministry memorial. And then definitely Friday."

"We've got some standing plans on Fridays, but we can meet you after," Harry said. At her questioning look, he explained, "We have dinner with my godson and my…well…his grandmum every friday."

"You have a godson?" Neville asked.

Harry smiled tightly. "Professor Lupin's son."

There was a pained sound from Hannah, and Harry remembered suddenly that she'd lost her mother early on in the war. He had to admire her; despite that tragedy she'd returned during the darkest time imaginable.

Neville frowned and nodded. "You know, what you said—at his funeral," he began awkwardly, but he gathered himself quickly. "It's gotten a lot of people talking. People are starting to really rethink a lot of the old ways."

"Good," Ginny said simply. Harry squeezed her hand in thanks.

Neville turned to Ginny abruptly. "I meant to say—well—I didn't get the chance at—at Fred's," he stammered. He raked his fingers through his neat hair. "Sorry, that—I just wanted to say that I'm really sorry. And I know it's hard right now." He gave Harry a pained look. 

Harry nodded tightly.

Neville took a long tired look at Ginny and sighed sadly. He dropped his gaze away to stare at the space between them all. "I've found that it helps when I remind myself to be proud of them, specifically in the moments when it's hardest." He grimaced and seemed to draw into himself, until a gentle touch to the shoulder from Hannah snapped it out of him.

"It makes things hurt a little bit less," he whispered. 

Harry watched Ginny from the corner of his eye, waiting to gauge her reaction. They had made pointed efforts to say Fred's name, to not hide; efforts to have remembrances and honor him. They'd taken comfort in the busyness of their lives, of planning next steps and putting their lives back together. But it had only been a few short weeks, in which there had been only a few moments where the Burrow had gotten quiet enough to be ambushed by the stray thought of Fred's absence. 

Ginny nodded. "Thank you, Neville," she said. Her eyes had a haunted, faraway look to them. 

"Sorry," Neville muttered awkwardly. "I didn't mean to bring the mood down."

"What about you, Hannah?" Harry asked, eager to change the subject. "When did you start working here?"

"Oh, really soon after the battle," Hannah admitted. She looked down and found Neville's hand with hers. "After Mum died it was just me and my brother Ewan. He's got a job with the Ministry at the Muggle Liaison Office. But…" She pulled her hand back and rubbed her arms self-consciously. "It's hard with just the two of us."

Harry nodded, trying to imagine going through the heartbreak after the war without the Weasleys by his side. 

Neville put a hand on Hannah's shoulder and smiled proudly. "Hannah's doing brilliantly," he said, turning back to Harry and Ginny. "It's been less than a month and Tom can't run this place without her anymore."

"Tom's been really good about a flexible schedule while I apply and interview at healer programs," Hannah said. She caught the barman's eye and started to stand, but he waved her back down. 

"You want to be a healer?" Harry asked

Hannah nodded. "I was always good with Charms—got really good with healing charms this year. My Potions grades weren't spectacular, but honestly—"

"Whose were?" Harry offered.

Hannah grinned. "Thanks to Neville, Herbology really started to click," she said, causing Neville to blush furiously.

"I'm sure you did a lot of Herbology revision together," Harry said with as straight a face as he could manage.

"Yeah, just like I'm sure the two of you were working on your broomstick maneuvers," Hannah teased back.

Ginny chuckled. "Where are you looking to work?" she asked.

"Anywhere. Everywhere," Hannah offered lamely. She sighed in defeat. "It is so competitive. Everyone else seems to know someone. And sometimes that makes all the difference between getting a real shot and getting lost in the shuffle."

Ginny tapped Harry's arm furiously. "Maybe Andi can put in a good word for her!" she said suddenly. "She's a healer in Leeds but used to work at St. Mungos."

"Andi?" Neville asked curiously.

"My godson—Teddy's—grandmum," Harry answered awkwardly. "That's a mouthful," he muttered. 

"You should just call her your aunt," Ginny suggested with a fond smile, earning a non-committal noise from him. "She'd love it, Harry."

Harry knew Ginny was right, of course, but it felt like a huge presumption. Despite their familiarity they really hadn't known one another all that long.

"I'll talk to Andi on Friday and see if she's got any ideas or maybe wants to talk with you," Harry offered.  

"That would be brilliant," Hannah said, relief clear on her face. 

A new crowd of customers began flooding into the Leaky and drew Hannah's attention. She panned the room once more and motioned to Tom, who nodded in defeat and waved her over to the counter.

"I've got to get back to work, but we'll see you tomorrow?" she said, giving Neville a quick peck on the cheek. Harry and Ginny nodded.

"Look at you, Nev," Harry said proudly, grinning as Neville watched Hannah walk away. 

"Still not sure how it happened," Neville admitted sheepishly. He stayed a few minutes longer before excusing himself to join Hannah by the bar counter and leaving Harry and Ginny to their lunch. "I'll see you tomorrow at the ceremony. And then we'll get the whole crew together here."

"Minus Ron and Hermione," Harry said with a sigh, realizing that this would be one of the only times he'd be around his former classmates without his two oldest friends.

Neville laughed. "Oh, yeah, you'll have a ton of questions to answer," he said with a grin. "Everyone wants to know what's the deal with them."

"Who's 'everyone'?" Ginny asked.

"Mostly our year from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff," Neville admitted, nodding to Harry. "Dean and Seamus, Justin, Ernie, Sue, the Patils…sometimes some of the group that's going to the Aurors." Neville shrugged. "It's not exactly strict attendance."

"McLaggen?" Harry asked tentatively.

Neville shook his head furtively. "No—And Dean says that if you say his name three times in a row he'll show up," he warned seriously. "Though I'm not entirely sure if Dean's joking or not."

"It's a muggle thing," Ginny said, grinning. "From a…motion film? Movie photo? It's his favorite. Bug Juice…or something." She turned to Harry curiously. 

Harry shrugged. "Movie. Or film," he clarified. "But…I never really…" He said off awkwardly and Ginny gave his hand a squeeze under the table.

"We'll be there," Ginny said. 

"Brilliant!" Neville exclaimed. He glanced over his shoulder to Hannah at the bar. "I'll let you get back to your date," he said with a cheeky grin.

They watched Neville leave, and then Ginny turned to Harry with a sigh. "Jos will be heartbroken," she said. At Harry's confused look she continued, "She fancied him last year. But if he and Hannah were already together…"

Harry grinned. "I never talked with Hannah much, but they seem…" He trailed off, uncertain how to finish. If someone had told him seven years ago that Neville would be leading the school's rebellion against Voldemort while fending off several interested girls he never would have believed it.  

"Really good together," Ginny finished. 

Harry nodded, glancing over to Neville and Hannah talking animatedly from either side of the bar. Neville's hands moved as he spoke, his enthusiasm lighting up his face in a way Harry didn't often see outside of the Herbology classroom. Hannah leaned in closer, laughing at something he said. Her cheeks flushed with warmth that had nothing to do with the firewhiskey she was pouring. For the first time in a long while, he let himself believe that maybe they all could find their own happiness too.

Chapter Text

June 2, 1998

The Ministry Atrium was nothing like Harry had seen it during the war. There had been a sense of dread in his chest the last time he'd stepped across the black marble of the lobby. Everyone had been trying to avoid eye contact. There had been no noise beyond the quick footfalls of Ministry workers hurrying past one another to get where they needed to go and then get home as soon as possible.

Now there was a steady thrum of people speaking, in low, reverent whispers, a buzz of…it wasn't quite 'excitement,' but looking for something to be excited about . Eyes sought out friends, relatives, and coworkers. Handshakes and embraces were exchanged, condolences offered, and their eyes were raised . 

To the Atrium's heart.

The imposing tower of wizarding superiority—the black stone statues of witches and wizards towering over magical creatures in servitude—was gone, and in its place stood something altogether different—a phoenix, its wings stretched wide as though it were caught mid-flight. Its gleaming feathers shimmered with an otherworldly light, and caught the soft flicker of hundreds of floating candles hovering high above the atrium floor. 

Rows of chairs stretched in neat lines before a raised platform, their occupants murmuring in subdued tones or staring ahead in silence. Around the edges of the atrium, wreaths of white roses framed portraits of the fallen—from both the Battle of Hogwarts and their months of Voldemort's rule before it. Harry's gaze caught on one in particular—the smiling face of Colin Creevey. He looked away quickly, the familiar pang of loss sharp against the back of his throat.

Ginny's hand tightened in his. She took a sharp breath. Below the sculpture, a circular pool reflected its image, and along the pool's edge, names glowed faintly in golden letters. Too many names. Harry caught sight of a few familiar ones: Fred Weasley. Remus Lupin. Nymphadora Tonks. Colin Creevey. His eyes lingered there longer than he intended, his chest tightening with the guilt he thought he'd left behind. 

He took a steadying breath and gripped Ginny's hand tighter. "You alright, Gin?"

She let out a matching breath. "Yes," she whispered. Her thumb brushed a small circle on the back of his hand. 

"Do not pity the dead. Pity the living, and, above all, those who live without love." Dumbledore's words echoed in his head.

Mr. Weasley came up behind them. He put a hand on Ginny's shoulder and then wrapped the other arm around Harry's shoulders. Harry was struck, suddenly, by the realization that the close contact was not at all uncomfortable. He realized he had never doubted his place with the Weasleys. He'd never even considered the possibility that Mr. or Mrs. Weasley could possibly disapprove of him dating their only daughter. He didn't know whether to feel accepted or ashamed.

But in the end, the steady grip on his shoulder was all the reassurance he'd ever need.

"I think it's fitting," Mr. Weasley said, gazing up at the statue with them. "I wondered what they would do after they tore the old one down. I believe the artist consulted with Muggle-born witches and wizards when designing it. They were looking for something to represent Magic , rather than the witches and wizards who use it."

"It's perfect," Ginny whispered.

"It was actually a Muggle-born Hogwarts student, an artist, who drew and suggested the initial phoenix idea," Mr. Weasley said softly. Beside him, Harry felt Ginny twitch. "And well, after the years we've had, I suppose we all hope that we can rise from the ashes."

They passed rows of witches and wizards, some in their best dress robes, others in plain work clothes. A few reached out to pat Mr. Weasley's arm or nodded solemnly at Harry, their expressions a mix of gratitude and awe. Harry wasn't sure how to respond, so he kept his gaze ahead, focusing on the familiar patch of red hair just visible over the sea of heads.

When they reached the family's section, George was already there, standing stiffly next to Percy. His face was pale, his eyes red-rimmed, though he wasn't crying now. As soon as he saw Harry and Ginny, he crossed the few steps between them and drew them into a rough embrace, his arms tight around their shoulders. Harry could feel the faint tremor in George's grip and the uneven hitch of his breathing.

For a moment, none of them said anything. Harry felt Ginny's hand slide over his back, steady and warm, as she clung to both of them. 

George pulled back, wiping his eyes, and swallowing hard. "Don't know what came over me," he admitted lamely, his voice thick. 

"It's okay," Ginny said gently, her voice low. She reached out to squeeze George's hand, her fingers firm around his. "We're all feeling it."

He found Andi and Teddy already seated with the Weasleys. Harry reached for Teddy automatically, and the tiny baby let out a wet shriek of excitement as Harry fell into his view and lifted him into his arms. 

Harry noticed the people all around them fall silent at Teddy's outburst. Every eye fell on them, and Harry felt both distinctly exposed and extremely protective of the child he was holding. It was only when he realized that they weren't looking at them with annoyance, or fear, or suspicion, that he understood the silence was a respectful one. Everyone slowly turned back to resume their own private conversations, and Harry lowered himself into a seat between Ginny and Andi.

They settled into their places, the rest of the Weasley family closing ranks around George as though forming an unspoken barrier of support. Harry glanced down the row and caught sight of Mrs. Weasley gripping Bill's hand tightly, her gaze fixed on the phoenix sculpture. 

The weight of the day pressed down on him again, and he was briefly aware of the near-infinite tons of rock between him and open air. But as he looked around at the people he loved—at the lives they had fought so hard to protect—he felt a flicker of determination spark within him. Today was for remembering, for grieving, for honoring what they had lost. And tomorrow, somehow, they would keep going. Together.

"Do not pity the dead. Pity the living, and, above all, those who live without love."

Kingsley Shacklebolt strode through the assembly and the crowd fell into a hushed silence. He stepped to the foot of the statue and stared up at it. He was still for a few long moments, made seemingly longer by the heavy silence Kingsley's presence had commanded. Then—and Harry thought he saw him breathe a heavy sigh—Kingsley turned to face the room. He cast a quick Amplifying Charm and stowed his wand.

Kingsley's sharp gaze swept the room. "Thank you all for coming," he said, his deep voice ringing through the Atrium. "Before we begin, I would like to invite all Department Heads to join me standing here before you."

Mr. Weasley stood and strode up the center aisle along with about two dozen other witches and wizards. Harry noticed Gawain Robards among them. They assembled in a line with Kingsley, facing the rest of the room.

"This is the Ministry," Kingsley said, gesturing to the witches and wizards standing with him. "Your Ministry. I called these good men and women, witches and wizards, to stand before you today so you might look us in the eye and take the measure of us all." His gaze fell across the assembled witches and wizards. "I want you to know that I do not take the trust you have placed in me lightly. Nor do I place my trust lightly. But I trust them ."

Kingsley turned his eyes upwards to the phoenix statue. "When searching for a replacement for the abomination that stood here before, we considered many options," he began, his voice steady but resonant, carrying effortlessly through the Atrium. "I wanted it to be something that might represent us all—regardless of blood status, regardless of whether we were human or not. A symbol of resilience, unity, and hope."

He paused, his gaze sweeping across the audience, meeting the eyes of witches, wizards, and magical beings of every kind. "The phoenix, in its essence, is a creature of renewal and rebirth. It lives, it burns, and then it rises again from its ashes. For centuries, it has been a symbol of strength through adversity—a reminder that even in the face of destruction, there is the potential for new beginnings. After everything we've endured, it felt fitting."

Kingsley gestured toward the statue, his tone softening with reverence. "But beyond its universal symbolism, the phoenix has a special place in our story. Many of you knew of Fawkes, the phoenix belonging to Albus Dumbledore. This phoenix was not just a faithful companion to one of our greatest leaders; but when Voldemort returned, Fawkes was there, with a song of courage and defiance that carried us forward even when hope seemed faint."

He drew in a breath, his voice gaining strength. "The phoenix wasn't just a symbol, it was a rallying cry. The Order of the Phoenix, who assembled under that banner, stood against tyranny and hatred, fighting for what was right even when the odds seemed insurmountable. Those who bore that name did so with bravery and conviction. They gave their lives during the Battle of Hogwarts, and in the months and years before so that we might stand here today."

Kingsley took a step closer to the statue, his hand outstretched as if to touch the radiant wings. "This phoenix is not just a memorial to those we've lost, but a reminder of what we can become—what we must become if the sacrifices of our heroes are to mean anything. A society that rises from the ashes of its past, stronger and more united than before. A world where we honor our differences and protect each other fiercely, just as we did in our darkest hour."

His voice softened, yet it carried the weight of conviction. "This statue does not signify the end of our fight, but the beginning. It is our promise—to our magical brethren, to each other, and ourselves—of who we are and who we can become. That we will remember, rebuild, and rise. Together."

Kingsley turned to the statue and bowed his head. Beside him, the other Department Heads did the same. A wave of motion seemed to roll through the gathered mourners as, row by row, they all stood and bowed their heads in turn. A long moment of silence passed, and Harry allowed himself the luxury of closing his eyes. He felt the sureness of Ginny's hand in his own, the steadiness of the Weasley family around him. 

"Do not pity the dead. Pity the living, and, above all, those who live without love."

There were a few other speakers that stepped forward after Kingsley was done. A representative from Gringotts named Ragnok spoke briefly and candidly about how little trust the goblins had of wizards, but while they had little hope that this next generation of witches and wizards would be any different, "Little hope is more than no hope at all."

A freed House Elf spoke next, her squeaky—but articulate—voice sounding almost comical echoing through the vastness of the Atrium. Her appearance sent a pang of guilt through Harry and he resolved to check in on Kreacher the next chance he got. The House Elf spoke about the difficulty in challenging tradition—that it was painful, at times, to do so. 

"But once you have changed things—freed yourself from the shackles of your old thinking—the other side is so worth it," she said. 

A centaur spoke next, in that winding, indirectly vague sort of way. The centaur's tone was steady, deep, and deliberate, each word chosen with respect for its symbolism. Harry strained to understand the layered metaphors and celestial references woven through the speech, feeling as though he were trying to decode a star chart in Divination class. He caught glimpses of meaning—references to the harmony of the universe and the battle's place in some sort of tapestry of history—but much of it felt distant.

Still, Harry felt moved by the centaur's presence, and the quiet power of his perspective: a reminder that the fight had been about more than just wizards, but the balance of life itself. Harry left the moment with a renewed awareness of how many lives and forces had been intertwined in the war, even if the full meaning of the centaur's words eluded him.

Finally it was Professor McGonagall's turn. Harry half expected her to look exhausted. He'd been to Hogwarts a few times with Ron and Hermione; he knew exactly how difficult the task she faced was shaping up to be. Restoring trust in the school and addressing the pain of the students would have been an impossible enough task without the repair of the school and hiring of new staff. 

But she remained as inscrutable as ever. She looked every bit the imposing presence she'd been on his first night at Hogwarts, except for a harder edge in her eyes. She surveyed the crowd with those sharp eyes just as she'd done hundreds of times before in her classroom. 

"It is my unenviable privilege to stand before you today as the new Headmistress of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry," she began, and that hard edge began to dissolve. Harry could hear the traces of exhaustion in her voice, even though her appearance was as impeccably composed as ever. "It is a role I never sought, but one I will bear with every ounce of strength I possess—for the sake of those who walked those hallowed halls, and for those who will yet walk them in the years to come."

Her gaze moved over the crowd, pausing on familiar faces, her former students who had grown into the leaders, fighters, and survivors before her. "I have been at Hogwarts long enough that many of you here today have, at one time or another, passed through my classroom. Perhaps you remember me with fondness—or perhaps not, depending on how often I assigned detention." A ripple of quiet laughter moved through the room, offering a brief, welcome warmth.

Her expression grew solemn. "One month ago, I fought alongside some of the bravest and most noble students I have ever had the honor of teaching. I stood with them as equals, not as teacher and pupil, but as comrades in a fight for everything we hold dear. They showed courage beyond their years and a dedication that will inspire me for the rest of my days."

She hesitated, her voice thickening. "But I also fought against others—young witches and wizards I had once taught. Students I had once loved, nurtured, and guided. I knew their names. I knew their faces. For some, I remembered even their Sorting. And yet, in the end, they sought to destroy us. That reality haunts me still."

McGonagall's voice wavered, but she pressed on, her chin lifting. "It is a painful truth that we, as adults, as mentors, and as a society, failed many of our young. Time after time we have allowed prejudice, fear, and hatred to fester, and we did not do enough to stop it. That failure is ours to bear, and it must drive us to do better."

Her eyes, fierce and determined, swept over the crowd again. "And yet, even as I acknowledge that failure, I cannot allow myself to despair. Because for every mistake, every injustice, I have also seen the resilience, the determination, and the sheer goodness of the younger generations. I have seen the best of humanity, and it far outshines the worst."

She straightened, her voice ringing with conviction. "I believe in our future—not because it will come easily, but because I have seen the strength within our youth to shape it. They are the phoenix rising from the ashes of our mistakes, and it is our duty to give them the tools, the guidance, and the love they need to soar."

Her final words were spoken with the quiet confidence of. "So I will continue to teach, to guide, and to hope. I will believe in the future—not because it is promised, but because it is worth fighting for. And I know that, with all of us working together, we can make it a future worthy of those we lost."

"Do not pity the dead. Pity the living, and, above all, those who live without love."

She stepped back from the podium, the silence hanging heavy for a moment before it broke into quiet, heartfelt applause. McGonagall nodded to the crowd, her lips pressed in a thin line as she returned to her seat.

Kingsley stepped forward once more from the assembled Ministry officials. He caught Harry's eye with a curious raised eyebrow, a silent question to whether Harry wanted to speak, but Harry shook his head. Words had already been shared, and there was nothing he could add that would be anything more than serving his own ego. A faint smile curved on one side of Kingsley's lips, and he nodded subtly before turning to the assembly. He thanked them for their attendance and reiterated the day's importance with a few more words.

"As you go about your days—now and further along—remember what was said today ," Kingsley said, a pleading edge to his voice. "Do not allow the people who sacrificed their lives to have died in vain. Resolve yourselves to feel this pain today, to heal together," He glanced meaningfully up at the phoenix statue, "and rise once again. So that we might honor the lives lost in the way that we live ours."

Harry remained seated for a while as the crowds began to disperse. He only rose once spotting Kingsley amidst the thinning crowd. He picked his way over, ignoring the few lingering mentions of his name on the lips of witches and wizards, and the half-whispered congratulations and thank-yous that followed. He nodded politely—awkwardly, of course—and then excused himself quickly each time.

He found Kingsley in conversation with Gawain Robards along with a younger blonde pair of witch and wizard. A quick glance at Robards confirmed that the Head Auror's icy demeanor was in full effect. Kingsley's friendly-but-tight smile confirmed that the two elder wizards were conducting themselves fully professionally.

With that as his cue, Harry decided to hold back until they were done. However, Kingsley noticed him and beckoned him over with a friendly wave. 

"Hello, Harry," Kingsley said, his deep voice warm and welcoming.

"Hello, Kingsley—err—Minister," he quickly corrected himself and glanced flickeringly over at the two blonde wizards. The last time he'd seen anyone with such platinum hair he'd been watching the Malfoys skulk off after the battle. He turned and nodded respectfully to Robards. "Mr. Robards, Sir."

Robards nodded curtly, his eyes steely. 

The corner of Kingsley's mouth twitched, as if recognizing Harry's momentary plight, but he restrained his reaction to one of tight-smiled amusement. "Thank you for coming," Kingsley said. "It means a lot, to many people, that you were here today. Myself included."

Harry nodded, glancing at the phoenix statue. "It means a lot to me, too," he said. He grinned. "For what it's worth, I like it."

"Me too, Harry. Me, too," Kingsley said. For a moment, there was an ocean of weariness in his dark eyes. Kingsley didn't stay much longer; some other important person or discussion drew his attention and he bid Harry goodbye before heading off.

"So. The famous Harry Potter," the blond wizard said, pulling back Harry's attention. He was as strikingly blond as Draco, but his eyes lacked the venom of the Malfoy heir. Still there was something… challenging about him.

"I'm surprised he didn't take the opportunity to speak," said the blonde witch. Her eyes were as ice-blue as the other's and she was practically radiating "challenging."

"I'm fairly certain that's not surprising at all," said the wizard, fixing Harry with a scrutinizing look. There was something different about their accents. They spoke perfectly, but certain sounds were just…off. Almost like they were spoken with a different accent; more clipped, harder.

"Alright," Harry said lamely. "That's fun."

"Oh, I mean no offense. Please," the wizard said quickly. He shot out his hand. "Will Kennrith." He gestured to the witch beside him. "This is my sister, Rowan."

She quirked an eyebrow his direction, but otherwise said nothing.

"No, what I mean is that anyone who has tried to learn much about you—real, verifiable, factual things," he said, talking quickly to explain himself. "Would find that there is not very much of that out there. Meaning that you are a rather private person. Meaning none of this," he gestured vaguely around the room, "that you have done was done for any self-aggrandizing purpose."

"Of course not," Harry said quickly and certainly. He glanced at Robards, who paid him no mind and merely watched Will with his piercing gaze. 

Will smiled as if Harry had shared the revelation with him. His words came less quickly now that he'd reached his point. "Exactly. This can only mean that what you did was not for glory or recognition, but from the desire to do the right thing. And want for nothing in return. Least of all to give a speech." He nodded to the base of the statue. 

Rowan groaned and rolled her eyes in exasperation. "You could've left it at 'he's a private person' and have been done with it," she scoffed. She gave Harry a look that was almost-pitying. "Sorry, my little brother gets a bit too excited when he's given the chance to speak."

She extended her hand and Harry shook it. Her grip was like iron.

"The Kennriths will be joining you in Auror training," Robards said, his voice cutting through the awkwardness of their meeting. "They've spent the last several years on the international dueling circuit, earning a fair bit of recognition."

Harry nodded politely, trying to ignore the twinge of discomfort he felt. The Kennriths' presence seemed to carry a quiet confidence that was somehow more intimidating than open arrogance.

Robards stood straighter, clasping his hands together behind him. Harry was struck suddenly by the realization that this man was his boss . The person that would determine what the rest of his life might look like. 

"The Kennriths bring a wealth of experience, and I expect that to raise the bar for everyone in this class." His eyes flicked to Harry, his expression unreadable. "And I expect you to hold your own, Potter. Consider this your first real challenge as an Auror-in-training."

Harry nodded, meeting Robards' gaze steadily. "Yes, sir," he said, his voice firm.

The Kennriths exchanged a glance but said nothing, their expressions neutral.

"Good," Robards said briskly. "The three of you are dismissed for now. I'm looking forward to August."

With that, Robards turned and strode away, leaving the three of them standing together.

Rowan broke the silence first, her tone measured. "So, Potter. Ready to see if you can keep up?"

Harry raised an eyebrow, catching the challenge in her voice. "I guess we'll find out soon enough," he replied evenly.

Will smirked, crossing his arms. "This might be even more interesting than I thought," he said, his tone laced with dry amusement. "See you in August, Harry."

Harry wasn't sure whether to feel reassured or wary, but as the Kennriths turned to leave, he suddenly realized just how quickly August seemed to be approaching.

Harry and Ginny stepped into the bustling warmth of the Leaky Cauldron, the sound of clinking glasses and lively chatter washing over them. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had extracted no fewer than three solemn promises from each of them to be safe and keep their eyes open. 

"Just because the Death Eaters have gone to ground doesn't mean they can't cause trouble," Mr. Weasley had warned, his face etched with worry. "They're still out there, Harry. And you are a target."

Rather than feeling stifled, Harry found himself strangely comforted by their concern. Andi's words had been circling in his head lately, urging him to take care of himself for the sake of the people who cared about him. It was easier to heed them now, easier to let himself feel looked after instead of weighed down by their anxiety.

Inside the pub, the din was almost overwhelming, but one particular table near the back seemed to be the source of most of it. Harry heard Seamus Finnigan's unmistakable laughter cutting through the noise before he even spotted him. It brought an automatic smile to his face. He caught Neville's eye and waved. Neville waved back and said something to Seamus and Dean, though Harry couldn't hear.

Before he realized what was happening, Seamus had bouldered over to him and wrapped him in an enormous hug.

"Harry bleedin' Potter!" Seamus bellowed, sweeping Harry into a bone-crushing hug and lifting him off his feet. The smell of alcohol hit Harry immediately, and he barely had time to react before Seamus planted a sloppy, wet kiss on his cheek. 

"I feckin' love this man!" Seamus shouted, turning to the rest of the pub. The declaration was met with an uproar of cheers and applause.

Harry wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear.

"And Ginny Weasley!" Seamus hollered, throwing an arm around her as well. The crowd cheered again, though Harry caught Ginny's smirk. She seemed far more amused by the spectacle than he was.

Seamus herded them toward the table where Neville, Hannah, Luna, Dean, Susan Bones, Justin Finch-Fletchley, and Ernie Macmillan were already seated. They raised their hands or glasses in greeting, though several cast fondly exasperated looks at Seamus as he downed the rest of his drink in one gulp.

"Dumbledore's Army!" Seamus shouted, raising his empty glass high.

"Dumbledore's Army!" the group chorused, joined by scattered cheers from other tables around the pub. Harry noticed that while their group cheered with enthusiasm, Neville and Susan had done so with the clear-eyed conviction the others lacked. 

"Let's get you both a drink," Ernie said, eyeing Seamus warily. "Maybe something not quite so strong." He waved over Tom the barman and ordered Harry a Hogsmeade Honeybrew and a Firefly Fizz for Ginny. 

Tom cast a wary glance over to Ginny. "She old enough?" he asked flatly.

"Oi! When's that ever stopped ye from sellin' a drink?" Seamus slurred with a lopsided grin.

"New Ministry, new rules," Tom replied with a shrug.

"She's just short, mate," Dean chimed in, his tone light but edged with exasperation. Harry could practically hear Ginny's teeth grinding.

Tom crossed his arms, shaking his head. "I'll get meself in trouble if I start handin' out drinks to every little witch sneakin' out from under her parents' noses."

"'Every little witch'?" Seamus repeated, his voice rising indignantly as he lurched to his feet. He thrust his half-empty glass at Dean and jabbed a thumb toward Ginny "That's Ginny-fookin'-Weasley!" He jabbed a thumb at her, his grin wild and his voice loud enough to draw a few startled glances. "Fought Death Eaters in the Ministry o' Magic as a Fourth Year, broke into Snape's office t'swipe the Sword o' Gryffindor for Potter, re-formed Dumbledore's Army to resist the Carrows, and dueled Bellatrix fookin' Lestrange!"

He shook his head with a bark of incredulous laugh. "And people still reckon she's just Ron's wee sister? Feck off with that shite!"

Tom gave Seamus an annoyed glare. Then shrugged and rolled his eyes. "Fine, one Firefly Fizz," he said grumpily. He shot Seamus one last hard look. "But you better slow down, lad, or the next drink you're getting is a soberin' potion before I toss yer arse out."

Seamus looked like he was going to argue, but Dean and Neville grabbed him by the shoulders and yanked him back into his seat, thanking Tom profusely as they did so.

"Mate, you need to cool it," Dean said, gripping Seamus hard.

"Fook him," Seamus snarled, his glare still fixed on Tom.

"Merlin's beard, Seamus, are you trying to get us kicked out?" Susan asked warily.

"Or fired?" Hannah said. She cast a nervous glance toward the bar. "I work here, Seamus."

Seamus slammed his hand on the table, nearly spilling Justin's drink. "He's goin' on about bein' of-age? Fookin' hell, where was he when Death Eaters came to Hogwarts to kill fookin' children?" he demanded, ignoring the desperate shushing from Neville and Hannah. His glare sharpened. He threw his arms wide, and almost knocked the drink from Justin's hands. "Where was any o' them when we were fightin' Voldemort, eh? Useless feckers, the lot of 'em!"

Neville shot Harry and Ginny an apologetic look. Harry was stunned by the anger in Seamus's voice. It was a hard reminder—one he didn't often let himself dwell on—that the war had taken something from all of them, even those who hadn't stood at the very center of it.

Ginny reached for Harry's hand under the table and squeezed it gently. He glanced at her, grounding himself in her steady presence. Whatever came next, they'd face it together.

Tom returned a few moments later with their drinks.

"Thanks, Tom," Harry said, offering a look somewhere between a weak smile and a grimace.

Tom gave him a long, appraising look before nodding. "Thank you, Mr. Potter."

Justin elbowed Seamus sharply, gesturing toward Harry. "That's how you do it," he said, pointedly. "I like coming here. Don't muck it up for us."

Seamus just rolled his eyes before excusing himself to use the loo. "I need to take a piss."

Harry waited until Seamus had left before turning to the others. "Is he alright?" he asked, his voice low.

Neville grimaced, staring down at his hands. Hannah slipped hers over his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Dean shifted uncomfortably, his gaze flickering toward the door Seamus had disappeared through.

It was Susan who answered. "It's been hard for him," she said, her tone soft but steady. She glanced toward the far corner of the pub, her expression clouded. "Was hard for all of us, sure, but…Seamus took it harder than most. You lot were gone," she gestured to Harry. "Dean was on the run."

Neville nodded, his face grim. "Wasn't an easy time to be in Gryffindor," Neville added. Harry thought back to the first time he'd seen Neville at Hogwarts that year, his face bruised and battered. "Seamus and I took the brunt of it for the younger ones. Tried to keep them safe."

Harry shook his head, guilt settling heavy in his chest. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice quiet. "We didn't know how bad it would get for you."

But even as he spoke, he knew it wasn't entirely true. Ron had known—or at least, he'd guessed—after hearing about Ginny stealing the sword.

Dean broke the silence, his voice low and bitter. "He told me he and Lavender were together all last year," he said, his expression tightening. "And he just had to…watch…when Greyback—" He cut himself off, unable to finish.

Harry nodded. He knew there was little to say—nothing but time was going to make that hurt any less. He turned to Ginny and saw the same hurt reflecting in her eyes. It had been a hard day for all of the Weasleys: one month without Fred. He'd been thinking so much about how George was holding up that he'd forgotten—however briefly—that the rest were feeling that same pain. 

"Oi, what I miss?" Seamus's voice cut through the heavy silence as he dropped back into his seat. His tone was jovial, but the grin didn't quite reach his eyes. 

He looked around at their somber expressions and let out an aggravated sigh. "Oh, fook off," he muttered. "I'm fine." His tone dared anyone to argue, but no one did.

Harry felt a twinge of annoyance and dared to peek over at Ginny. So that was what it felt like being on the other end of the unconvincing "I'm fine."

The rest nodded, but Harry didn't feel it was his place to say one way or the other, so he remained silent and still. It was hard, seeing everyone else struggling with their grief, and he felt guilty for not feeling more. 

"You're awfully quiet, Harry," Luna said from beside Dean, her dreamy voice cutting through the din. It was the first time she'd spoken. "You lost many people during the war too, didn't you?"

Harry nodded slowly, turning her words over in his mind. He supposed he should feel worse on the one-month anniversary of the battle. But instead, Dumbledore's words echoed softly in his thoughts. "Death is just the next great adventure," he said aloud.

There were looks of shock from around the table. "It was something Dumbledore told me," Harry explained, glancing around. "A long time ago. He…he knew, I think, how close this would all come to me. And I reckon he was preparing me, even back in our first year."

"That's bloody morbid, mate," Ernie muttered with a grimace.

Harry shrugged. "Don't pity the dead," he said quietly, repeating the words that had echoed through his mind all day. "Pity the living—and, above all, those who live without love."

"That's beautiful," Hannah said softly, her expression thoughtful.

"It's the…last thing Dumbledore ever told me," Harry admitted, his voice heavy with the memory. He glanced down at the table, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his glass. One month ago to the day , he realized, the thought sending a shiver through him. "I'm not sure if he hoped or if he knew we'd win—or if there was any real difference between the two for him, but he somehow always had a feeling for how things might turn out. It's been hard, especially today, but I've tried to hold onto it."

"Fook me, I'm a right ungrateful shit," Seamus muttered into his drink. He shook his head, his face drawn with disappointment. "I've still got me mum, still got me dad." His gaze flicked toward Hannah and Susan, guilt darkening his expression. "I shouldn't be this fookin' pitiful, eh?"

"Grief doesn't care about what you have left," Luna said softly, her tone uncharacteristically serious.

"It just cares about what you've lost," Ginny added, her eyes distant. "Nothing changes that."

Hannah leaned forward, offering Seamus a small, understanding smile. "Time helps," she said gently. Her hand found Neville's and gave it a squeeze. "So does not being alone."

Seamus groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Well, fook me, then," he said with a wry laugh, though his voice carried a hint of reluctant gratitude.

"You're not alone, mate," Dean said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"You're going back to Hogwarts," Seamus countered, glancing from Dean to Justin.

Neville nudged his arm lightly. "And you'll be with us in Auror training," he said. 

Ernie grinned, his tone teasing. "Think they'll go easy on us since we fought Death Eaters before we even graduated?" 

Harry shook his head "Actually I think it's the opposite," he said, pushing at his untouched drink. "Ron and I met with Kingsley and Gawain Robards a few weeks back. They made it clear they're not pulling any punches."

Seamus let out a long-suffering sigh and slumped back in his seat. "Again, let me just say, 'Fook me,'" he said with a self-deprecating scoff. 

The table erupted into a brief wave of laughter, the tension lightening as the laughter rippled through the group.

Harry took a sip of his beer. "I met some of the other recruits today," he said tentatively, hoping to steer the conversation to safer ground.

"Is that who you were talking to?" Ginny asked. 

He nodded. "The Kennriths," he said slowly, testing the name. "Will and Rowan."

"I've heard of them," Susan said, leaning forward with interest. "They're a big deal on the IDC—International Dueling Circuit," she explained, noticing the confused looks from some of the others. "My aunt and I used to follow it on the wireless. They've won championships in doubles every year since graduating."

"I hear Victor Pennant is joining, too," Ernie added, his tone more conspiratorial.

Harry quirked an eyebrow. "Who?"

Ginny smacked his arm, staring at him in disbelief. "Victor Pennant!" she goggled at him. He still had no idea who she was talking about. "Beater for the Kenmare Kestrels." Her eyes were wide as she took in the new information. "He's a professional Quidditch player! How do you not know this?"

Harry just shrugged. He'd never paid all that much close attention to professional Quidditch teams, stats, and standings. All he knew was that Ron's favorite team was the Chudley Cannons, they were right terrible, and yet that didn't dissuade Ron one bit. 

"That's—that's bloody mental!" Ginny exclaimed, her cheeks tinged with a rosy flush. Harry's eyes flicked warily to the half-empty glass of Firefly Fizz in front of her—it was clearly stronger than the butterbeer she usually drank.

He fought back a grin. She'd no doubt spend the rest of the week marveling at how anyone could give up professional Quidditch to slog through Auror training…once she got over her headache, of course.

"I can't believe it," Seamus said, his own eyes widening. "Almost makes up for having to work with McLaggen."

Harry groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Don't remind me."

Ginny let out a snort of laughter at Harry's groan, the Firefly Fizz warming her from the inside out. She leaned back in her chair, the edges of the room feeling just a little softer than usual. It wasn't often she indulged, but today felt like an exception. They'd made it—little by little, day by day—and now it was a month later. Thirty-one days of feeling that hole in her chest where Fred used to be. Thirty-one days of watching Mum and Dad struggle to hold each other up against that unbearable grief. Thirty-one days of watching George relearn how to live. Thirty-one days of the life that they'd fought for.

Thirty-one days…and they'd bloody made it. 

Tomorrow would be the start of month two. The start of wondering just how long it would take until that hole in her chest stopped aching each morning. The start of trying to figure out the rest of their lives. 

"One day at a time," she whispered to herself.

Harry heard it, however, and shot her a curious look somewhere between a grin and concern. Merlin, he was adorable. She grinned back and sluggishly laced her fingers with his. He caught the faint wobble in her movements and exchanged a glance with Neville. Without a word, the group seemed to collectively decide to linger at the Leaky until the buzz began to wear off. Ginny appreciated the easy camaraderie; with the same people who she'd spent most of the year before fighting beside.

As the conversation ebbed and flowed, Ernie leaned forward, his tone shifting to something more practical. "So, has anyone sorted out where they're going to stay when Auror training starts?"

"Well there are barracks we stay in for training," Neville said, his face screwed up in confusion. "Or do you mean after?" When Ernie nodded, Neville just shrugged. 

The table quieted briefly, and then Seamus snorted. "Bloody hell, haven't even thought about it. Figure I'll just sleep in a broom cupboard and call it a day."

The laugh that rippled through the group was warm, breaking through the heavier thoughts still lingering at the edges. Ginny tilted her head toward Harry, her curiosity piqued. They hadn't actually talked about those sorts of arrangements yet. She felt guilty for missing it. She should have noticed it— they should have talked about it. That they hadn't thought to—along with Tom's dismissal of her because of her age—made her feel much younger than everyone at the table.

"Reckon you and Ron will stay with his parents?" Seamus asked, spinning his glass lazily on the table. Ginny noticed he hadn't drank much of this last one.

Harry hesitated, the weight of the question flickering across his face. "I haven't decided yet," he admitted sheepishly, glancing around the table. "Maybe…but I don't want to impose on Mr. and Mrs. Weasley forever."

Ginny just rolled her eyes dramatically. "Please. Mum and Dad love you."

Harry grinned softly to himself. The fact that he knew it—really knew it—made her heart swell. She wasn't sure right then if it was the look on Harry's face or the alcohol, but she had the urge to Floo back to the Burrow and tell her parents just how much that meant to her.

"Well of course they love him," Dean said with a sly grin. 

Ginny started, worrying briefly if there was still some lingering resentment. She couldn't imagine any of that could remain after Harry had saved him from Malfoy Manor, but boys could be stupid. Luckily Dean proved her wrong.

"He still calls them 'Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.' How could they not?" Dean teased good-naturedly. "He's known them since he was eleven years old!"

"I think it would be weird if I switched now," Harry protested, looking mockingly affronted. He started speaking in an exaggerated voice, "I really appreciate you letting me live in your house, Molly. Thanks for not going mental if I sneak down into Ginny's room at night, Arthur."

There was an uproar from the table. Neville, his glass raised to his lips, choked on his drink and sent it sputtering across the table. Seamus shot to his feet in surprise. Susan's head whipped around so fast Ginny swore she heard a whip-crack. Dean let out a roar of laughter. 

"Oh, bugger," Harry muttered, as he sank into his seat.

"Hold the Floo! What's all this?" Hannah gasped with a scandalized grin. "Are you two really sneaking around?"

"Hardly surprising, is it?" Seamus laughed, nudging Neville, who hid a laugh of his by wiping his face. "Harry was sneaking out somewhere all the time at school."

"It was not all the time," Harry grumbled, but his ears were turning pink.

"Was there ever a week where you didn't sneak out of Gryffindor Tower at night?" Neville challenged. At Harry's almost-affronted look he shook his head. "Look, mate, we lived with you for six years. You were always up to something."

Harry looked stunned, a loopy grin stuck to his face. "I'm—I know—there was most certainly a week where…" He paused, looking pensive. 

Ginny gazed at him expectedly.

"I'm sure there were," he insisted. "I just can't think of any right this moment." He looked back at her hopelessly. "Well we didn't exactly take notes each and every time."

"I'll bet you everything in your vault that Hermione did," Ginny dared him teasingly. 

Harry grinned and leaned in to kiss her, eliciting a collective, mocking "Aww," from the group. He pulled back and shot them a playful "fuck off," in return. She swayed in her seat, though she wasn't entirely sure it was from his confident public affection or from the booze. 

Harry turned to them and shrugged. "I know I'm welcome at the Weasleys. If Ron does decide to join the the Aurors it'll make a lot of sense, and I can help out Mr. and Mrs. Weasley when I'm around after work." He paused, looking pained. "But if Ron goes back to Hogwarts that might be a bit…"

"Fuck it, you can share my broom cupboard with me," Seamus declared with a broad smile. "Nah, I figure I'll find some shite flat in downtown London so I can live nearby."

"You can use the Floo or Apparate from anywhere," Ginny pointed out. Her father did it from all the way out at the Burrow.

He shrugged. "Sure, but we're going to be fresh new Aurors. We'll be getting all the worst feckin' assignments at the worst hours. It'll be nice to get home without having to worry about getting splinched." He sat back and smirked. "Plus when the blokes wanna go out for a pint after work I don't have to worry about waking me mummy and daddy when I come stumbling home."

"It does make it easier to network," Susan agreed with a thoughtful nod. "Auntie always used to host dinners or gatherings with work friends at her house in London."

"The Ravenclaws were right, we should get an apartment," Ernie said to Susan, then explained to the rest that Michael Corner, Terry Boot, and Anthony Goldstien had already decided to find a place together for that exact reason.

"They were, but I think it's more that no one wants to be living alone after the past year," Luna said in that same dreamy voice. "It's easier when you're together."

"Well, we'll all be in London for work, yeah?" Neville said with an encouraging smile. "Might as well figure something out together. Safety in numbers and all that."

"Safety, sure," Seamus quipped, raising his glass. "But also cheaper rent."

"I'm not sharing with McLaggen," Ernie declared, raising a finger as if swearing an oath.

"That goes without saying," Harry replied, grinning as the conversation spiraled into an animated debate about flat-sharing logistics, unwelcome roommates, and the inevitable battle over bathroom schedules. 

"And all I'm say is that if we're sharing a flat with Ron Weasley I think we all need our own rooms," Seamus said insistently. He glanced at Dean and Neville as if to prove his point. "We've all lived with him before. The man's a right slob."

"Oi, that's my brother!" Ginny objected.

"Then you know what he's talking about," Dean said pointedly. Ginny noticed his arm around the back of Luna's chair and resolved to ask her friend about it.

Ginny sighed in resignation. "I do," she admitted.

"And I for sure don't want to hear whatever he and Granger are up to at nights," Seamus added warily.

Ginny felt Harry shudder before she saw him blanche at the insinuation.  

"Ten Sickles says she makes him a revision plan," Seamus said, laughing as Harry groaned even louder.

"Ten Galleons says that after their trip to Australia they don't need one," Dean said, prodding Harry a little more. 

Harry sunk down into his seat. "That's never stopped her before," he muttered, and another chorus of cheers sounded from the Gryffindor boys. Ginny was worried—momentarily—but the wry smile on Harry's face let her know he was more than fine. It had been so long since she'd seen him without the comforting presence of Ron or Hermione that she'd forgotten how little he bothered hanging out with anyone else not named Weasley or Granger.

And yet…there he was, talking and laughing with many of the people that he'd spend the next few months—and maybe years—working alongside. Harry Potter was not alone anymore. That thought let her breathe a sigh of relief.

Harry and the rest of the group going to Auror training continued discussing what they thought training would be like. She caught a few snippets—Neville recommended they keep tabs on the Daily Prophet and the ongoing reforms. Harry mentioned the physical conditioning he'd been working on with her…which, of course, drew another round of teasing.

Ginny chuckled along with them, but she found her attention drifting. There was only so much Auror talk she could take before it started to feel like eavesdropping on a conversation she wasn't really part of. Catching Luna's eye, Ginny tilted her head with a small smile, silently inviting them out of the Auror conversation.

"So for those of us done with dark wizards…" she said, offering them a way out.

"We'll still have to deal with Slytherin?" Justin said with a shrug, before nodding over to the Auror-talkers. "Ernie and Sue told me they were essentially Death Eaters in-training all last year."

"Fuck them," Dean scoffed angrily, his eyes hardening. Ginny felt a pang of sympathy for him and Justin; hiding and on the run all last year. They'd been in a similar situation to Harry, Ron, and Hermione, but without the certainty that they were doing anything to fight back. 

Ginny and Luna were quick to confirm that it was as awful under Snape and the Carrows as Dean had been told, though Ginny admitted she'd have preferred Hogwarts over the Malfoy dungeons. When she pressed Justin and Dean as to why they weren't going the same route as her friends Cora and Anya, Justin explained that N.E.W.T. year was different and he wanted to make sure he was fully prepared to take the exams. 

"I'm going to prove them wrong," he said, looking Ginny in the eye. "I'm going to show them that I belong at Hogwarts—in this world just as much as anyone else."

Dean leaned forward, throwing his arm over Luna's head from where it had been, and patted Justin on the arm consolingly. Ginny decided it was as good a moment as any to steal Luna away. Catching her eye, she raised her brows and tilted her head toward the loo in a silent signal.

Luna smiled serenely, that ever-dreamy expression lighting her face. "Excuse us," she said, standing with an air of nonchalance. "Ginny wants to tell me something in private."

Ginny groaned as a ripple of curiosity spread through the group, then hurried after her. Once they were both in the relative privacy of the loo, Ginny cornered her. "Okay, so?" she asked, crossing her arms. "Are you seeing Dean?" She worked hard to keep her voice neutral, willing herself not to let any old breakup baggage creep into her tone.

Luna tilted her head, her gaze wandering thoughtfully to the ceiling. "I think so. Why? Do you think I'm imagining it?" She tapped a finger to her lips. "No, I'm quite certain he's real."

"Luna," Ginny hissed, swatting her arm with a playful shove.

Luna gave a small shrug, a coy smile tugging at her lips. "I don't think so. Although," she added in her usual unhurried tone, "we did shag while staying at your brother's cottage."

Ginny sputtered, her face burning.

"Kidding. We did that in the Malfoy dungeons," Luna said serenely, patting her arm with a calm smile. Ginny goggled again, almost missing the teasing smile curling the corner of Luna's mouth. "Dean is very nice. We spent a lot of time together, but we're just…very good friends."

Ginny raised an eyebrow curiously but decided not to press the issue. If Luna was content with her answer, she wouldn't push. "He is nice," Ginny admitted, softening. "I'm glad you were there for each other."

Luna surprised her with a sudden, warm hug before gliding back out of the loo. Ginny followed, her eyes instinctively finding Harry first. He was leaning back on the rear legs of his chair, laughing at something Seamus had said. When he spotted her, he gave her that lopsided grin that never failed to make her heart flutter. His eyes were glassy, and his empty glass was tipped over on the table.

Merlin, he really was a lightweight.

"You ladies alright?" Seamus shouted as they neared.

Luna answered before Ginny could. "Quite alright," she said brightly. "Ginny was just asking if I was shagging Dean."

There was an outcry from the rest of their table, and Harry jolted so suddenly that the back legs of his chair gave out. With a crash, he tumbled to the floor. The crash drew every eye in the room. Harry lay sprawled on the floor, blinking up at the ceiling in momentary confusion. Ginny bit back a laugh and crouched beside him.

"You alright there, Potter?" she asked, fighting a smirk as she brushed his hair back from his forehead.

Harry chuckled and sat up, rubbing the back of his head. "I'm fine," he mumbled, his cheeks flushing.

The rest of the table erupted into laughter, Seamus slapping the table with one hand while Luna merely smiled dreamily, as if she'd orchestrated the moment on purpose.

"The Man Who Won," Dean teased, tossing a wadded-up napkin at Harry, which he swatted away.

"Come on," Ginny said, grabbing Harry's arm to help him to his feet. "Think that's our cue to head out before you do yourself any more damage."

Harry grumbled but allowed her to pull him up. As soon as he was steady, he leaned down and kissed her temple. "You're too good to me," he said quietly, the sheepishness in his voice making her smile.

"Don't forget it," she teased.

Ginny turned to the rest of the group, who were still grinning and chuckling. "We're heading out," she said.

"Already?" Neville asked, though his smile suggested he understood.

"Yeah, I've got to get this one home before he breaks anything else," Ginny said, nodding toward Harry, who grinned ruefully.

"Or before Ginny starts hugging the floor too," Seamus quipped, raising his glass in a mock toast.

Ginny rolled her eyes but smiled. "Goodnight, everyone."

The goodbyes were a chorus of warm wishes and friendly jabs, with Luna waving serenely and Neville promising to owl soon. As they stepped into the cool night air, Ginny linked her arm through Harry's.

"It was great to see everyone, even if you did spend way too much time talking about Auror stuff," she teased as they started toward Slug & Jiggers Apothecary for a sobering potion, reasoning that it would be better to return to the Burrow a little more steady and avoid the judgment from Mum. "If you're going to be at the pub with Seamus you really can't be such a lightweight."

"Oh, come on," Harry shot back, nudging her gently. "I slipped when Luna said she shagged Dean."

Ginny laughed and nudged him back. Despite the lingering ache in her chest, moments like this reminded her that they'd made it—somehow, they'd made it. 

They avoided the evening crush of people moving through the Alley—the darkening sky meant that fewer people would bother to loiter about and notice Harry Potter himself walking into the apothecary. Still, it didn't stop the sales-witch from stammering as her jaw dropped. Harry fought through the awkwardness and discomfort and ordered their potions. Refusing, of course, to pay anything less than full price.  

"Today got me thinking though," Harry said as they waited for the witch to return with their sobering potions.

She quirked up an eyebrow "Oh?" 

Harry nodded, looking out the shop window into the street. "About the future," he said. "My future, our future—whatever you want to call it." He sighed and paid for their potions, then thanked the witch and wished her goodnight. 

"Are you rethinking the whole 'Auror thing'?" Ginny asked, as they returned to the Alley. A strange guilty hope bloomed in her chest.

Harry shook his head determinedly. "No. The opposite, actually," he said, and her guilty hope turned into just-guilt. "The house-elf at the memorial got me thinking about Kreacher."

Ginny blanched.

"He's not so bad anymore," Harry insisted, though she didn't know how much she believed it. He seemed to sense her suspicion. "He's better , at least." 

"So you've said."

"Then everyone was talking about where to live," Harry said, a worried look crossed his face. "And well…"

Ginny grabbed his arm. "You know Mum and Dad would keep you for as long as you wanted," she said. "Probably longer, if we're being honest."

Harry slid his arm back and took her hand in his. "I know, believe me, I do," he assured her. "But everyone's moved out after Hogwarts—all of your brothers. So I thought…" 

Merlin, he looked unsure of himself. She squeezed his hand, silently willing him her confidence. He seemed to sense it. His green eyes sparkled and the worry melted off his face into a lopsided grin.

"I was thinking of checking on Grimmauld Place," he admitted, scratching his chin awkwardly. "And if I can get it in good enough shape…I thought I'd maybe…live there ."

"Alone?" Ginny asked. She didn't like the idea of him living by himself.

"Well I'm sure Ron would be alright with it. But," Harry rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, "I haven't exactly thought that far ahead." He grinned at her. "So? What do you think?"

"What do I think?" Ginny asked.

"Yes, you." Harry wrapped his arms around her. "I mean…I was sort of hoping—that is, err," he stammered, then seemed to clear his worry with a shake of his head. "Once you were done with Hogwarts and signed with whatever Quidditch team…"

"You want me to move in with you?" she gasped. She pushed away from his chest and stared into his eyes. "You really want to live with me?"

"I can't imagine living without you," he said. There was no trace of drink or worry in his voice when he said it. "This next year is going to suck, with me being at the Ministry and you at Hogwarts. But when we finally get the chance, I just…"

It took every measure of control Ginny had not to bite her lip and frown. She knew that new recruits to Quidditch teams were often required to get an apartment locally. Harry, having not given thought to a professional Quidditch career of his own, wouldn't know that. She thought about telling him, but the earnest, hopeful look in his eyes convinced her not to. 

She wasn't done with school yet. She hadn't even signed up for a tryout, forget making a team and having to live within spitting distance of the home stadium. They were a good way off from having that difficult conversation. 

"I love you," she whispered, reaching up to kiss him. Then pulled back and said, "Grimmauld might be a really big job."

"I have no idea what kind of shape it's in, or what the Death Eaters could have left behind," he admitted with uncertainty. He shook his head and his eyes grew distant. "We Disapparated so quickly—I don't know if they really even got in. Hermione thought so, and that's usually good enough for me, so…"

"Why don't we go this weekend with Mum, Dad, and Bill?" Ginny asked, taking his hand. "They can help find and get rid of anything the Death Eaters might have left for you to get caught up in." 

Harry nodded quickly, looking somewhat relieved but not entirely at ease. "Have I ever mentioned how brilliant all you Weasleys are?"

Ginny grinned, leaning in to kiss him again. "Not recently enough."

Chapter Text

June 6, 1998

Harry stood on the cobbled street of Grimmauld Place in the early-morning gloom, staring at the darkened space between numbers eleven and thirteen. The familiar, weathered facade of number twelve emerged as he approached, sliding into existence like an unwelcome memory he couldn't quite shake. Every moment he started at it reminded him of the weeks of planning, of the war, of Sirius. He was beginning to question his decision to turn the dilapidated old house into his home .

Harry exhaled sharply, shaking off the thought. He adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder, steeling himself. The house had always carried an air of foreboding—a shadowy reminder of the past and all the horrid things Pureblood superiority stood for—but now, after the battle and everything they'd lost, it felt heavier than ever.

"Best be careful," Mr. Weasley said from where he stood beside Harry. He gave the exterior an appraising once-over. "It looks unscathed enough, but there's no telling what nasty surprise Death Eaters might have left for you." He glanced over to Harry's other side and asked, "Bill?"

Bill's wand waved complex patterns in the air. He shook his head. "The Blacks locked this place up tighter than anywhere I've ever seen outside of Hogwarts and one old crypt in Egypt," he said. "I can barely tell where one ward ends and the next begins, never mind all the other enchantments, curses, or hexes that might have been part of the original protections or left behind more recently."

"Zo, you are saying we should be careful?" Fleur asked, trying for a bit of levity.

Bill shot her an unamused look. "If that was what I was saying I would have left you home with Mum and Ginny," he countered. 

Fleur smirked knowingly, and Bill rolled his eyes. Mrs. Weasley had volunteered to watch Teddy after Andi was called into work unexpectedly. Ginny had argued rather hard that she should join them, but her parents were adamant that she avoid Grimmauld Place until they were certain it was safe. Her not yet being of-age was really starting to sour her disposition.

Harry was glad she was safe, but in truth he'd wanted to share the moment with her. He hadn't realized just how badly he'd wanted a future—their future—until that evening with Neville and the others at the Leaky Cauldron. He wanted it more than he'd wanted anything in his entire life. Staring up at Grimmauld Place, he couldn't help but picture it as their home, with their lives happening inside it: Ron walking in like he owned the place, Hermione scolding him for it; Andi and Teddy coming by for dinner; their friends stopping by to listen to Quidditch matches on the wireless.

Merlin, he wanted that life.

He stepped forward, but Bill reached out and snared him by the arm.

"I know that look, Harry. Seen it a hundred times before," Bill said, his eyes piercingly serious. "You want to get it over and done with and get back home. I get it."

But he really didn't.

"You need to be smart and slow," Bill continued. "We don't know what's waiting for us. Going in without your head screwed on right is as dangerous as going in at a full sprint."

Bill wasn't entirely right in his read, but the message was clear. Harry needed to slow down. He nodded, and the worn black door materialized fully as he reached the stoop. His fingers brushed over the serpentine door knocker, but he didn't use it. Instead, he drew out his wand and whispered the unlocking charm. The locks clicked and whirred, and with a groan of ancient wood, the door creaked open.

The musty smell hit him immediately, mingled with the faintest trace of polish. Someone had been here since the war—Kreacher, maybe—but time had still left its mark. Dust clung to the edges of the hallway, and the curtains over Mrs. Black's portrait hung askew, revealing a corner of her sour, scowling face.

They stepped inside, with Mr. Weasley shutting the door firmly behind them. The sound echoed through the empty house.

For a moment, Harry simply stood there, taking it all in. The chipped wallpaper, the frayed edges of the rug—it was all the same. And yet, it felt profoundly different. He was finally accepting that it was his .

He ran a hand along the banister, his fingers brushing over the carved wood as he moved deeper into the house. Memories stirred with each step: listening in on Order meetings with the Twins, de-Doxyfying the curtains with Ron and Hermione, Ginny brushing past him in the narrow hallway.

Bill moved his wand in long, slow, wide arcs. "Good so far. Let's move to the dining room. Slowly. We can use that as a Benevolent Space and start moving up and out from there," he said, speaking in a clipped businesslike tone that Harry had never heard before. 

Gone was the "cool older brother," the doting son, and the affectionate husband. Bill was entirely in his element; whispering indecipherable spells under his breath as he led the way into the house. His wand wove continuously through the air in one hand, while the other hand was splayed open in front of him. The fingers of his empty hand moved as he passed them through the air, like he was feeling for something. 

When they reached the dining room, Bill paused. He shrugged his bag off his shoulder and handed it to Fleur, then he cast a sharp, precise spell. The moment Bill finished casting, the air in the Grimmauld Place dining room seemed to shimmer. A faint golden light rippled outward from the tip of his wand, enveloping the room in a soft, protective glow. The once oppressive shadows that had clung stubbornly to the corners began to dissipate, retreating as though banished by some unseen force. The musty scent of decay and lingering malice that had haunted the room for decades was replaced with something more herbal—like some sort of spice.

As Bill moved to each wall, he carefully traced the symbol of an open eye in the air, his wand leaving behind faint trails of silvery light. The symbol lingered momentarily, as if watching, before sinking into the surface of the wall with a soft hum. The room seemed to exhale again, and the oppressive weight that once seemed to smother Grimmauld Place lifted slightly. The air grew warmer, more inviting, and the sense of lingering hostility that the house had always carried began to ebb.

When the final eye symbol was traced and absorbed into the wall, the entire room pulsed gently, as though it had acknowledged and accepted the magic. A faint, protective hum vibrated just beneath hearing—a comforting sound, like the murmur of a shield being raised. The dining room now felt...lighter. 

"Fancy bit of wandwork there, Bill," Mr. Weasley said appraisingly. He walked over to take a closer look at where the eye symbol had vanished into the nearest wall. "You never showed us anything like this when we visited you in Egypt."

"Well I wasn't about to bring my parents and younger siblings into anything actively cursed," Bill said with a grin. He walked over to the opposite wall and ran his fingers across the tattered wallpaper. "But I figure if the Eye of Horus is protection enough for curse-breaking a pharaoh's tomb it's a good enough start for us now."

Harry dropped his bag onto one of the chairs and stood there, staring at the space where Sirius had once sat. The long wooden table sat in the middle of the room, its surface worn and scarred from years of use—and abuse. Where so many plans had been made. For a moment, he wondered if he'd made a mistake coming back here. Maybe it would've been better to sell the place, to leave it behind for good. Sirius had hated the house. The only thing that kept him from burning it to the ground was the fact that it was the only place he could live and the Order needed it.

Harry knew right then he could save himself any trouble. He could burn the place to the ground, honor Sirius's wishes, and let the Noble and Ancient House of Black be forgotten.

But then he thought of Kreacher. The old house-elf had fought alongside them in the battle—loyal and brave in ways Harry never could've imagined when they first met. And Kreacher deserved more than that. Sirius deserved more—even Regulus deserved it. All of them had been so deeply scarred by this place. So Harry knew he could either destroy it and leave that scar behind. Or he could heal it. 

He thought about what Andi had told him, one of the precious few things he knew about his family—that his grandfather and great-grandfather had openly defied Pureblood traditions, using their influence to help the many instead of themselves. Harry resolved to do the same. He would take Grimmauld Place and turn it into something that Sirius would be proud of; something that would bring him joy , knowing that Harry was using it to spit in the face of every vile thing Voldemort, the Malfoys, and Sirius's parents believed in.

Harry straightened and cleared his throat. His voice felt small in the vast stillness of the room.

"Kreacher?"

There was a faint crack, and then the old house-elf appeared before him, bowing so low his long nose brushed the floor. Kreacher's ears flopped forward as he croaked, "Master Harry calls Kreacher. Kreacher is here to serve."

The sight of him—a little frailer than Harry remembered, his patched tea towel tied neatly around his middle—brought a lump to Harry's throat.

"Hi, Kreacher," Harry said softly. He hesitated, searching for the right words. "It's…it's good to see you."

Kreacher straightened, his large eyes blinking up at Harry. "Master Harry has not called for Kreacher since…" The house-elf's voice trailed off, and his gaze dropped to the floor, his expression unreadable.

"I know," Harry said quickly, guilt flaring in his chest. "I should have called you sooner. I'm sorry, Kreacher. I just…" He trailed off, running a hand through his hair.

Kreacher tilted his head, studying Harry. Then, with a surprising softness, he said, "Master Harry has been fighting a great war. Kreacher understands."

The lump in Harry's throat grew. He crouched down, so he was eye-level with Kreacher. "I'm done now. With that war," he said quietly. "It's done. For good this time."

Kreacher made a face that was something between a scowl and a smile. "Kreacher is…conflicted," the elf admitted. "The Mistress," and at this he glanced out towards the entrance hall where Walburga's portrait still hung, "would be devastated. But Master Regulus…this is what he wanted and died for."

Harry nodded, distinctly aware of the Weasleys' eyes on him. "It's okay to be conflicted, Kreacher," he assured the elf. "I am, too." Kreacher's eyes snapped wide and stared at him in disbelief. "It's all I've known, for my whole life. I'm only just starting to feel like things are different. It can be overwhelming. It can be—"

Kreacher cut him off. "Terrifying," he said. Then, realizing he'd just interrupted Harry, looked stricken.

Harry held out a placating hand. "Yeah. That's right," he said.

"It can be quite terrifying to start something new," Mr. Weasley said, kneeling down to Kreacher's level. The elf's eyes went wide and he stared at Mr. Weasley in bewilderment. "But oftentimes once we get to work it becomes much less so."

"Maybe we can help each other," Harry said, and Kreacher's look of astonishment grew.

He bowed his head. "Kreacher lives to serve his Master."

"Is that what you want though?" Harry asked. "To serve?"

"Kreacher is a house-elf. House-elves serve," Kreacher insisted forcefully.

Harry nodded slowly. He could free Kreacher. But if Kreacher truly didn't want it…was that just another form of slavery? Would he be freeing Kreacher by forcing him out of happiness? Harry couldn't imagine one without the other.

"That's…hard for me," he admitted. He smiled sadly. "Dobby was the first house-elf I met. He was happy to be free; happy to live free—happy to die free, too. And I'm very proud of the part I played helping him get that freedom."

"Kreacher is not a young elf with funny ideas. Kreacher lives to serve his Master."

Harry stared into the elf's eyes and knew, then and there, that Kreacher had no doubts or second thoughts on the matter.

He nodded. "Okay," he said slowly. "But I want you to understand that some things will be changing." Harry smiled awkwardly and glanced around. "I want to live here."

Kreacher gave him a wary look. 

Harry grinned. "You know me. Snakes, and troll feet, and elf heads. That's not who I am. If I'm going to live here, and make it my home, I need it to be mine." Kreacher wrung his hands together. "So I want you to understand that you will always have the choice to gain your freedom." Kreacher looked scandalized, but Harry persisted. "If you feel, at any point, that what I'm doing here is causing you too much distress…"

Kreacher seemed to understand what he was saying. He screwed his face up proudly. "Kreacher would never abandon his House."

"But I want you to be proud of it, too," Harry insisted. All his hopes and dreams flashed across his mind. "What I want to do here—Walburga would not be proud of it. Sirius would be."

Kreacher seemed to coil upon himself, his eyes wide and wild, a half-snarl dragging its way across his face.

Harry kneeled down beside Mr. Weasley and across from Kreacher. "Walburga was not a good person, Kreacher. What she believed was cruel. The same cruelty that killed a lot of people," Harry said. "Sirius was a better person. I loved him, but he was still cruel to you. I know I can't change that." Kreacher uncoiled slightly. "I'd like the House of Black to be better. If you're choosing to remain in service to the House, I think it needs to be worthy of you this time."

Kreacher looked stunned. The revulsion and confusion was gone, replaced by something akin to epiphany. "Worthy of Kreacher," the elf muttered. 

"Worthy of everything we've been through," Harry said with a gentle nod. "Of everything and everyone we've lost."

Kreacher was silent for a long while, his baleful, bloodshot eyes searching Harry's face intently. After a moment, the elf took a deep breath, drawing himself up and standing profoundly straight-backed. "Kreacher would like to continue to serve the most Ancient and Noble House of Black."

Harry grinned and extended his hand. Kreacher recoiled, looking at the offending limb as if it were a venomous snake. "Kreacher is a servant," he muttered shakily.

"This is a show of respect," Mr. Weasley said. He placed a hand on Harry's shoulder and nodded. "You can serve and still be respected. Some say the mark of a good master is how he treats his servants."

Harry fought the urge to flinch, knowing that Mr. Weasley was only calling him that for Kreacher's benefit and understanding. Master Harry, Master of the Elder Wand, Master of Death. The Boy Who Lived. The Chosen One. The Man Who Won. Titles were never something he felt comfortable with.

"I'm going to need your help putting this place back together," Harry said, his hand still outstretched. "I can't do it without you."

For a moment, Kreacher was silent. Then his thin lips curved into a small, proud smile and he took Harry's hand. "Kreacher will help Master Harry. Always."

The room felt just a little warmer, a little less heavy. Harry gave him a faint smile in return. "Thank you."

And just like that, the oppressive silence of Grimmauld Place seemed to ease, replaced by the quiet promise of something new.

They worked throughout the rest of the morning and into the late afternoon, moving through Grimmauld Place room by room, curse by curse. Bill took the lead, his years of experience as a curse-breaker shining through as he directed the group with quiet confidence. The dining room, now sanctified as a "Benevolent Space," served as the focal point of their efforts—a refuge they could retreat to if things went sideways.

Every inch of Grimmauld Place seemed to resist their efforts, the house groaning as if resentful of their intrusion, as if the oppressive darkness that they'd spent the past few years fighting off had been reignited by whatever it was the Death Eaters had left behind along with the destroyed belongings. Its walls seemed to bristle with the lingering remnants of dark magic, the air thick and heavy.

Harry couldn't help but notice just how much damage the Death Eaters had left in their wake. The once-oppressive but intact house had become a shell of itself during their occupation, with broken furniture and scorched, vandalized walls marking nearly every room. 

"They're not very creative," Harry muttered, casting a quick Scourgify to remove a bright-green "Die, Mudbloods, Die " off the wall of the sitting room. Bill had stopped him from doing anything to the graffiti before he checked it for traps or curses, explaining that it was an often-used method of triggering a curse.

"Well no one ever accused Death Eaters of being clever," Mr. Weasley agreed, drawing his wand over a bookshelf. He frowned, muttered a string of low words under his breath that Harry didn't quite catch, and then the weight seemed to leave the room. "There. I think I got it. Bill, would you mind checking?"

Bill gave the room another last check-over and nodded, confirming the all-clear and indicating for them to move on to the next. It was slow, painstaking work.  

But Kreacher had done more than Harry had expected. Though the house was still far from welcoming—or even livable—much of the superficial damage had already been repaired. Furniture had been mended, upholstery patched together, and the floors scrubbed of grime, soot, and…other things Harry didn't want to think too long on. Harry's heart ached with gratitude for the old elf's efforts. Despite everything, Kreacher had done his best to preserve the house, just as he had once preserved the memory of Regulus.

Even so, the deeper scars—curses, hidden hexes, and dark enchantments—were a different matter altogether. Those couldn't be swept away with a mop or repaired with a snap of the fingers. For that, they needed Bill's expertise.

"Alright," Bill said, brushing dust off his sleeves as he studied a parchment covered in rough sketches of the house's layout. They'd finished with the ground and basement floors. Bill had explained that breaking the curses at a building's foundations weakened the curses and hexes further up and allowed them to be broken more easily. 

"We'll move up floor-by-floor now," Bill said, moving towards the staircase. "Each floor we clear should make the rest that much easier, as long as the curses are tied to the house itself. Cursed objects are different, so try not to touch too much if you can help it." 

Bill was careful as he climbed the stairs and cautioned them against using either handrail. He regaled them with the story of a coworker in Egypt who had descended a stairwell without checking it for curses. He'd ended up dropping through the pyramid into a dungeon-like room where he'd remained trapped for several days with a broken leg before the team was able to find him and get him out.   

They continued the arduous task, working their way up room-by-room and floor-by-floor. Kreacher followed, scouring the rooms clean in their wake. It was—frankly—rather disgusting work. Curses applied to rooms and items had a tendency to leave behind grimy residues in the air once broken, leaving Harry's skin, hair, and clothes feeling oily and sticky. The strange spicy-herbal scent that seemed to emanate from every broken curse filled the house, making it seem like someone had been cooking for hours.

Bill wiped a trail of strangely-fluorescent sweat from his brow and Harry had the sinking feeling that he was covered in the same unsavory substance. "Fleur and I are going to check the last two floors," he said once they'd finished the second floor bedroom that Harry and Ron had shared during the summer before their fifth year. "I'll make sure there's nothing too malignant and then we can call it a day."

Harry waited on the second floor landing with Mr. Weasley, listening intently for any signs of distress from above. But beyond the muffled back-and-forth between Bill and Fleur and the creaks of the old house everything remained largely silent. And then even that faded away as the pair moved further upstairs.

"I suspect Molly won't let us back in the house until we've all been appropriately Scourgified," Mr. Weasley said playfully. 

"I'll admit. I thought this would take longer," Harry said.

Mr. Weasley shook his head. "I don't want to disappoint you, Harry, but I'm afraid there's still quite a bit more on your plate before this place is livable again."

Harry nodded. "I'm just impressed that we got so far already," he said. "I wanted to make sure we didn't…I dunno…get trapped in the walls as they filled with acid."

"I believe Bill took care of that one on the basement stairs," Mr. Weasley joked. He walked back to the bedrooms on the second floor, stopping to run his hand over the door of the room where Remus had stayed. 

"Mr. Weasley, I don't want you to think I'm not grateful for everything you've done for me," Harry said suddenly. At Mr. Weasley's curiously-baffled look he forged on. "Giving me a place to stay. A—a home, a real one. I don't…it means more to me than—"

"Oh, Harry of course not," Mr. Weasley said quickly, putting a solid hand on Harry's shoulder and pulling him closer. "We told you before—dating Ginny aside—you're ours in every way that matters." His eyes twinkled. "This is what parents do for their children. They teach them as best they can, and when it's time for the children to set out on their own…we try to ensure that they're ready." He gave Harry a pointed look. "And make sure they know they will always have a place to return to if they need it."

Harry's heart swelled in his chest and he nodded tightly.

"Do you think Ron would mind living here?" Harry asked tentatively. "If he joins the Aurors, I mean."

The first letter from Ron and Hermione arrived at the Burrow that morning. Mrs. Weasley had eagerly torn it open while the rest of the family gathered around. In it, Ron and Hermione detailed their initial experiences in the unfamiliar country, describing how they had quickly sought out the Australian Ministry of Magic for assistance. The Ministry officials had been accommodating, assigning them a caseworker to aid in locating Hermione's parents.

Ron, however, had devoted a significant portion of the letter to detailing what he called the "absolute horrors" of Australian wildlife—specifically, the spiders. He recounted, in graphic and deeply traumatized detail, his encounter with a Huntsman the size of his hand lurking in the bathroom of a restaurant. According to him, it had moved at "unnatural, demonic speeds" and disappeared before he could hex it, leaving him paranoid and on edge for the rest of the night.

Once Ron had finished his tirade about the local wildlife, Hermione took over to explain the more serious matters at hand—evident from change to her neater, measured handwriting. Hermione explained that the process to reverse the memory loss was delicate. Her memory charms had been thorough, and undoing them without causing harm required careful handling. They were tracking down records and following leads, but progress was slow. Despite that, she remained hopeful, and Ron assured everyone that they were managing just fine, even if he was still getting used to the strange magical customs of Australia.

The letter also included an address where they could receive post, allowing them to keep in touch as the search continued. Harry and the Weasleys were relieved to hear from them, even if it was clear that their journey had only just begun.

"I daresay he'd be rather disappointed not to," Mr. Weasley said offhandedly, glancing into the room he and Ron had shared during their stays. "Even with the two of you this is a lot of house. You might consider asking if some of the other Auror candidates would like to share the space."

"Like an Auror boarding house?" Harry wondered with a grin.

Mr. Weasley chuckled. "I wouldn't say limit it to Aurors exclusively, but can you imagine anything upsetting dear old Walburga more than having a bunch of progressively-minded Aurors making this their home."

Harry liked the sound of that. He'd have to owl the others once they got everything more put together.

"Have you thought about which room you might want to take for yourself?" Mr. Weasley asked, returning to the stairway and glancing up towards where Bill and Fleur had gone off to.

Harry nodded with a smile. He'd only had one in mind. "Sirius's old room," he answered. "Wouldn't feel right to be anywhere else."

"Well you've got your work cut out for you," Bill said as he made his way back to their floor. He had a look of almost-shock on his face. He shook his head. "The Death Eaters really didn't like Sirius, did they?" At Harry's curious look he continued, grimacing as he did. "They took some…liberties with the room. You're going to want to Bubble-Head yourself and Scourgify everything." He gave Harry a pointed look. "Everything, Harry." 

Harry shuddered, feeling especially unclean all of a sudden.

"I'll say this about your godfather, though," Bill continued with a smirk. "He had great taste in posters." This earned him a reproachful smack on the arm from Fleur and a chuckle from Harry. He winked playfully. "But looks like they couldn't take anything down from the Permanent Sticking Charms."

Harry nodded. "I'll ask George if he has any ideas," he said. He refused to believe that George and Fred hadn't come across the sticking charm problem at some point in their long and industrious troublemaking careers.

"Good news, 'owever. Zey barely touched ze bedroom across from Sirius's—with all ze Slytherin decoration," said Fleur who, even in the strange grime-filled air, seemed entirely unaffected. "And I do not think zey even set foot in ze master bedroom."

Harry nodded. That would make sense; desecrating something that was so staunchly Pureblood and pro-Slytherin would have been an affront to Voldemort's ideologies. Any Death Eater risked Voldemort's wrath by doing so.

"We checked, just to be sure," Bill told his father assuringly. "Didn't find anything that wasn't there the last time I was here."

"Thank Merlin for small miracles," Mr. Weasley said, clapping Bill on the arm. "Shall we head back?"

Bill led the way back down the stairs, wand raised, hand still splayed and looking like it was feeling the air in front of him. He paused a few times to dispel a few minor missed curses he'd missed along the way up. At the ground floor, the air had already begun to clear of the strange, floating grimy feeling. 

They gathered their belongings from the dining room and headed to the entrance hall. "I won't be able to help much until next weekend," Bill said, hefting his bag over his shoulder. "I'll help clear the attic then. I don't want anyone going up there until I do. But if you want, Fleur said she's willing to come with you and help you get started on the rest."

"Is it safe?" Mr. Weasley asked.

Bill nodded. "I mean…I wouldn't let Teddy roll around on the furniture, but we've found and removed the worst of it," he said with a shrug before nodding to Fleur. "As long as Fleur is along, I don't have any issues if you're continuing the cleanup without me." 

Mr. Weasley nodded thoughtfully.

"Ah, yes, zis was actually quite exciting. I think I finally understand why Beel loves zis so much," Fleur said, winking at Bill.

Bill gave his wife a wolfish grin. "She's a quick study."

Harry gave Fleur an appraising glance and she seemed to sense his surprise. "Come now, 'Arry. I am a Triwizard champion, non?" she said, as flipped her hair over her shoulder. "And I spent two years interning wiz Gringotts—I know my way around curse-breaking."

Harry held up his hands in surrender, a grin on his face. For more than seven years he'd seen the way the Weasleys stood up for and helped one another. He'd pitched in himself as well when able, but this was the first time he could remember them coming to help him when there was no urgent threat. This was…helping him build something—helping him create his future. The way family did.

He fought the urge to offer her some sort of compensation. He knew Fleur and the Weasleys well enough to know they'd take it as an insult. But it was Bill and Fleur's anniversary coming up. He'd have to do something nice for them. Ginny would know what to do.

"Kreacher," Harry said, his voice. Kreacher appeared with a crack, bowing to Harry as he did. "We're done here for the day, but…have you been staying here the whole time?"

"Kreacher has been at Hogwarts per Master's instructions," he said with another bow. "Kreacher returns to the Master's house when he is able."

Harry nodded. "Alright. I'll ask you to stay at Hogwarts unless we're here as well," he said. "I don't want anything happening to you if we're not here to help."

Kreacher looked scandalized again, but swallowed down his revulsion and nodded back. "Master Harry is good and noble. Many of the Hogwarts house-elves say so."

Harry smiled. "Thank you, Kreacher. You were a great help today."

Kreacher stood proudly and gazed up at Harry. With what looked to be a monstrous effort, he extended his hand towards Harry. "Master Harry is…m-most…w-welcome." He took a deep breath. "Kreacher is…proud to serve the Noble House of Potter."

Harry stifled a gasp and felt his eyes grow wide. He grinned and nodded. "The…House of Potter is lucky—and proud—to have you."

The Burrow hummed with the sort of quiet peaceful rhythm that Ginny had once found dull when it was last just her and Mum, but now felt oddly comforting. The warm spring breeze wafted through the open kitchen window, carrying the faint scent of wildflowers just starting to grow outside. Death Eaters had left a number of rather vile curses in the gardens, and Mum had only just been able to get anything to take.

Mum bustled near the stove. Before, she'd be humming softly under her breath as she stirred something in a pot. But now she was quiet, cleaning things methodically, and casting worried glances to the space on the wall where the family clock used to be. Mum still hadn't put the clock back up, but old habits were hard to break. Ginny wished she'd just sit down and relax for a minute.

Ginny sat cross-legged on the living room rug, her wand tucked behind her ear, cradling two-month-old Teddy Lupin against her chest. Teddy squirmed as he slept in her arms, his tiny fist brushing against her collarbone, and Ginny couldn't help but smile. His hair had shifted again, from a soft, downy brown to a shock of bright turquoise, as if even in sleep, his little body couldn't decide what it wanted to be.

"Still turquoise?" Mum asked, walking over from the kitchen with a look of defeat on her face that Ginny knew had nothing to do with Teddy's hair color. 

"Turquoise," Ginny confirmed, swaying softly with Teddy. "Though I bet once Dad and Bill come home there will be enough of us to get him to turn his hair red again."

Her mum chuckled gently. "Well if he does be sure he makes his way to Fleur," she said conspiratorially.

"Mum!" Ginny whisper-gasped in mock horror. "That's so unethical."

"Ginevra, my dear, what could you possibly be accusing me of?" Mum asked innocently. She reached out and smoothed the little tuft of hair on Teddy's head. "I'm just…doing a bit of gardening. Watering here , planting a seed there ." She shrugged coyly. "If it inspires Fleur and your brother to have a bit of a conversation later, and maybe consider cutting their worldly travels…shorter…well…"

"Mum that's almost devious!" Ginny teased.

Mum rolled her eyes. "Said the girl who broke into the Headmaster's office," she countered. "You've always known exactly where you get your devious streak and it's not from your father."

"You can't do that to Fleur. She'll feel pressured."

Mum scoffed. "Oh, please. That woman is too strong to feel pressured by anything," she said, waving off Ginny's concerns. 

Ginny felt her teasing grin soften. Fleur and Mum had come such a long way; from Fleur's subtle—and Mum's decidedly not subtle—cattiness to the bond of respect and understanding between them. Both married into the larger Weasley clan, both seen a profound loss early into their adult lives. But they'd found their person.

Ginny finally felt she could relate.

"Well as long as you don't do it with me and Harry," Ginny warned.

"With you and Harry, oh?" Mum said, turning to her pointedly. 

"Merlin. Fuck," Ginny swore, and recoiled, jostling Teddy and causing him to squirm angrily. 

"Ginny!" Mum admonished. She half-expected to hear, "Watch your language!" come next, but instead Mum just motioned to Teddy, as if her swear would somehow hurt him.

Ginny struggled to form words fast enough. "Mum. Please, we don't—I haven't—we haven't—" she stammered. "This conversation—I swear."

Mum leaned back cautiously. "That is not the conversation I want to be having at all right now, but thank you for the offer," she insisted warily. She waited until Ginny caught her breath before easing back forward. "I wanted…well…we spoke a while back, right? About relationships, the nature of love…"

Ginny nodded, holding the metaphorical mask over her face with all of her metaphorical might.

"I was just wondering…how things were," Mum offered. 

Ginny felt her shoulders ease at the question. The memory of their dockside conversation from just a few weeks ago flashed vividly across her mind. It still made her heart swell to think about. She still remembered the wet, wide-eyed look he'd given her when she'd first said those three words. She couldn't help the smile that split her face.

"They're good," she said, grinning madly. It was the only word she could think of. Good. It was uncomplicated and meaningful and warm and honest. It was good.

"Good?" Mum asked knowingly.

Ginny just chuckled and rolled her eyes.

"I'm happy for you," Mum assured, gripping her arm. "For both of you."

"But you desperately want to give me advice."

"Desperately."

Ginny laughed. "Well?" she shrugged. "Go ahead."

Mum grinned and shook her head. "No." She glanced down at Teddy and watched as his eyes began to flutter, a sign Ginny had learned meant he was going to wake up soon. "I think sometimes it's better to focus on that one thing that makes everything else line up and make sense rather than the complications that get in your way."

Ginny stared at her for a moment. "You know that's advice, don't you?"

Mum scoffed playfully. "Yes, but did you see how supportive and subtle it was?"

"This is the least subtle conversation I've ever had in my life," Ginny pointed out.

Mum looked like she was about to object but there was a tapping at a window. A huge brown owl with tufted horns stood on the perch clutching a talon-full of letters.

"Oh, thank Merlin," Ginny whispered. She watched as Mum offered the owl something of what she'd been preparing for dinner before flipping through the delivered letters. "Who's it from?"

"The Ministry," Mum said tentatively. She placed all but one letter down on the counter. "There's one for each of us." 

Ginny rose and made her way over, placing Teddy gently into his bassinet as she did. There were letters with the Ministry's embossed seal on the envelope addressed to each of her parents, Charlie, George, Ron, Harry, Hermione, and her—all of them currently staying at the Burrow. She had no doubt Bill, Fleur, and Percy would receive one as well if they hadn't already. Ginny took hers and tore it open. 

The Ministry of Magic
Department of Magical Law Enforcement
Office of the Wizengamot Administration Services

To Miss Ginevra Molly Weasley,
The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon

And Mr. and Mrs. Arthur and Molly Weasley, legal guardians,

Ref No.: WZ/1998/CRIM/1047

Dear Miss Weasley,

The Ministry of Magic, in accordance with the statutes governing judicial proceedings under the Wizengamot Charter, formally summons you to appear as a witness in the upcoming trial of Alecto Carrow and Amycus Carrow. The accused stand charged with multiple crimes against the wizarding population, including but not limited to torture, unlawful use of the Cruciatus Curse, and acts of violence committed at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry during the recent school year (beginning September 1997).

Your testimony has been deemed vital due to your direct experiences and observations during the period in question. As you are currently under the legal age of majority (17 years), this summons is also addressed to your parent(s) and/or legal guardian(s) for their acknowledgment and consent regarding your participation.

Details of the Summons:

• Date of Appearance: 18th July 1998
• Time: 10:00 a.m.
• Location: Courtroom Ten, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Ministry of Magic

Please note that your testimony will be conducted in accordance with Wizengamot procedures and under the protections afforded by the Witness Protection Charter. Should you have any concerns regarding your safety, emotional well-being, or the proceedings themselves, the Ministry encourages you to contact the Victim and Witness Support Office at your earliest convenience.

Your cooperation is essential to ensuring justice is served and the truth is upheld in these proceedings. Kindly confirm your availability by owl at your earliest convenience. Should you require transportation or have special considerations, arrangements can be made upon request.

We extend our gratitude for your bravery and willingness to contribute to this significant matter.

Yours sincerely,

Geraldine Towler
Chief Administrator, Wizengamot Administration Services
Ministry of Magic

"A summons," Mum whispered, staring down at her own letter. Ginny heard the tremor in her voice. "For all of us."

Her eyes flew to the stack of unopened letters, noting the varying thicknesses and that Harry's seemed largest. She glanced back down at the letter in her hands and read it again. It all felt so…academic, so sterile . 

She swallowed down a feeling of revulsion at the memory of Amycus Carrow's rotten-toothed grin as he forced student after student to practice the Cruciatus curse. She remembered his mocking laughter when students failed; and his sheer glee when they'd get it and the first years thrashed in agony.

Her anger flared white hot in her throat, and tears pricked at her eyes. "I'm not letting them get away with it," she told Mum forcefully. 

Mum had yet to meet her gaze, though she was no longer staring at the letter in her clenched fist. Instead she stared out at the grounds of the Burrow, her eyes unfocused and glassy.

"It was supposed to be over," Mum said shakily.

Ginny reached out and took her hand. "Not until they answer for what they've done," she said. She was surprised by the vehemence in her own voice. She glanced over to Teddy's still-sleeping form. "It can't be like last time. I won't let it."

Mum nodded blankly and placed her letter by the pile of unopened ones. Her fingers lingered a moment longer, before she snatched them away as if they'd been burned. She turned, and Ginny was struck by the pain and sheer exhaustion in her unguarded eyes. The wall Mum had built between herself and the grief of losing a son could only hold back so much.

Ginny chewed her bottom lip. "I think I understand what you're saying now," she said slowly. "About finding that one thing that makes everything else all make sense."

Mum stood straighter and the grip on Ginny's hand tightened. "They will answer for what they've done, Ginny," she said, her voice steady, even though she looked everything but. "We will not allow the next generation to suffer the same way." She cupped Ginny's face. "I couldn't stop it from infecting your childhood. But I swear to you, that's where it ends," she said fiercely. "I will not let it cast a shadow over your life like it did mine."

Ginny swallowed down the uncertainty, the fear, and the anger, and she focused everything she had on the one truly good thing she knew to be true. Harry, and the future he was trying to help build right that very moment for them both. 

One thing. One day at a time.

Ginny knew that Harry had wanted nothing more than a victorious homecoming after spending the entire day cleansing Grimmauld Place of all the nastiness that had been left behind. He'd come back with a wildly-triumphant grin plastered all over his face, looking all the more like he had when they'd won the Quidditch Cup than he had in months. 

It had meant the world to her, seeing him so happy, even with the weirdly-sticky sheen of dried, almost-fluorescent sweat caked on his skin. She hated how she would have to pour cold water on that victorious, lopsided grin of his that she loved so much.

She'd been royally irked when Mum put her foot down and refused to allow her to go along to Grimmauld Place; she'd gotten over it by rationalizing that she'd get a chance to spend time with Teddy, but now she was glad she'd been home to receive their court summons. She'd have hated to walk right into that announcement. This way she'd had the time to come to terms with it before sharing the news with Harry.

Harry's delivery had more summons than anyone save for Dad's, which—given his proximity to the ongoing cases in the Ministry—made sense. Dad had read the first of his summons thoroughly and then glanced over the rest, seemingly satisfied with what he read. Harry, however, had yet to take his eyes from the summons. His brow was furrowed in concentration

Ginny placed a hand on his arm. "You alright?" she asked.

"I've been called as a witness in the Malfoy trials—Draco's and Narcissa's," a conflicted look crossed his face. "For the defense."

"You're joking," Bill scoffed. Harry shook his head and handed him a few pages. Bill gave it a quick read. "Bloody hell. 'You are hereby summoned to appear before the Wizengamot as a witness for the Defense in the case of Draco Lucius Malfoy v. The Ministry of Magic, regarding charges of Complicity with Death Eater Activities and Crimes Committed During the Second Wizarding War.'"

"'Complicity?" Ginny demanded, snatching the paper from her brother. "He took the bloody Dark Mark!"

Mum tried to calm her. "Ginny—"

"He helped Death Eaters break into Hogwarts," she stormed on. "He and his git flunkies attacked Harry, Ron, and Hermione in the Room of Requirement with Fiendfyre! He tortured students under orders from the Carrows! And that's just what he did in the last year! This—"

A high-pitched screech from the sitting room told them all that Teddy was awake, and Ginny fought the urge to kick herself for interrupting the little boy's nap. Mum squeezed her hand firmly before heading off to comfort the baby.

"Harry?" she asked, tentatively, reaching out to him.

He gave her a forced smile. "Not sure why I expected anything different," he muttered.

"It'll be alright, son," Dad told him, placing a solid hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry's eyes darted to the elder Weasley and his chest swelled with a sharp intake of breath. "Answer their questions, tell the truth, and try to avoid getting riled up. Trust in the system." Harry grimaced. "I know that's hard for you," Dad added. "This will be your first test: if you're going to be an Auror you need to believe in the system and that justice will win out."

Harry nodded thoughtfully.

"What else did you get?" Bill asked, offering the Draco and Narcissa summons back. 

Harry took them and handed Bill the remainder, reciting their names as Bill flipped through the pages. "Called on by the Prosecution for the cases of Victor Crabbe, Gregory Goyle Jr., Gregory Goyle Sr., Augustus Rookwood, Tobias Nott, Magnus Mulciber, Atticus Selwyn, Walden Macnair, Roderick Travers, Lucius Malfoy, and…" A harsh, determined look crossed his face. "Dolores Umbridge."

Dad let out a disbelieving whistle. "Those are going to be high profile cases, Harry," he warned, looking pensively at Ron and Hermione's mail as well. "We should find a way to send word to Australia. Make certain Ron and Hermione are aware of what's going on and not caught off guard when they return." He turned to Mum. "I'll talk with Percy tomorrow, see if he can get them a message through the Australian Ministry."

They opened the rest of the mail. Ron and Hermione were also being called to give testimony for the prosecution regarding Umbridge, the Malfoys, and Goyle. George and Charlie were called to give testimony regarding additional Death Eater activity that they'd been aware of in Britain and internationally, respectively. 

"Who's this 'Klarion Bleak' chap?" Dad asked, looking over one of Charlie's letters. "This one says Charlie is being called to give testimony on his capture. Don't think I've heard of him."

"Not surprising," Bill said, carding a hand through his long hair. "Charlie said there were a good number of Voldemort sympathizers out on the continent. Kingsley had Charlie following them for a while. Guess Klarion never thought he'd run into someone from the Order in…" Bill scanned the summons a bit before blanching, "Latvia? Merlin, what was Charlie doing there?" 

Dad frowned thoughtfully. "Word at the Ministry was that Voldemort was beginning to shore up support for an international push," he said, shaking his head. "He had sympathizers across Europe and in the United States. It's rather terrifying to think how close we were to him taking the war globally."

Ginny suppressed a shudder; it was a sickening realization, realizing just how fragile their victory had been. How many witches and wizards had fled Britain for mainland Europe or—like with Maddox—had sent their children overseas to escape the violence. They'd gambled on there being a safe place to escape to, but they'd really succeeded only in weakening the resistance at home.

Harry seemed to be struggling with the same realization; he frowned deeply, rubbing at the bruise on his chest. It had been healing well with regular applications of Andi's salve, but he tended to massage it more when he was worried.

Dad noticed it as well. He laid a firm hand on Harry's shoulder and squeezed gently. "I know how much you hate the attention that comes with what you did and stood for, but you need to understand why it means so much to people," Dad said. 

"You all fought just as hard," Harry protested.

Dad managed a pained smile. "Yes, we did. And despite all it cost me—all it cost us—I would do it again in a heartbeat knowing what we saved," he said, nodding purposefully. "But in the end, it was you who faced him. When so many others fled or bowed, you stood in defiance—time and time again—and became someone the rest of us could rally behind." Harry shifted uncomfortably. "It's not just that you won, Harry. It's that you fought when so many others had all but given up. That doesn't go away just because the war is won."

Harry nodded slowly, clearly struggling to reconcile his own internalized self-worth issues with the measured and deliberate praise Dad was giving him. Ginny took Harry's hand and squeezed tightly, trying to desperately convey how strongly she agreed with her father.

Dad saw this and smiled warmly. He cupped Ginny's face tenderly, then looked past them to Bill, Fleur, and Mum. "This will be hard," he said, nodding to the stack of summons on the kitchen table. He took a shaky breath, and Ginny again appreciated just how difficult it had been for him, too. "But we have already faced this evil. We fought and—most importantly—we won. So, even though this is hard, we will face it again like we always have. Together."

He gave them all a pointed look, and Ginny nodded. Beside her, Harry nodded as well. Then Bill, then Fleur, and finally Mum; all of them drew strength from her father's certainty. 

"I—I need some air," Harry muttered, pushing back and heading outside towards the garden. His voice wasn't sharp with anger or tight with nerves as Ginny had expected. Instead, it was heavy—weighted with something closer to exhaustion, maybe even disappointment.

Dad gave her a pained smile, nodding once as if to acknowledge his own helplessness in the moment. That alone sent a shiver through her. Arthur Weasley had always seemed to have the answers. Even when he wasn't sure, he could make you feel like things were going to turn out alright. But now, just for a second, he looked impossibly human. 

How do you assure a young man like Harry that everything was going to be alright if the entire world was looking to him to set the example?

Ginny waited a beat before deciding to follow. She found Harry standing at the edge of the pond, his back to her, silhouetted by the fading light. A flick of his wand conjured a small stone, which he tossed into the water, watching as the ripples spread outward.

Harry seemed to sense her approach. "It's not fair," he said, sending another stone splashing into the pond. 

She stepped up beside him but didn't take his hand or stop him from venting his frustration. "It's not," she said, nodding. 

"All I wanted to do was tell you about today," he growled, and another stone splashed into the rippling surface of the water. 

She remembered how happy he'd looked walking through the front door before she and Mum told him about the trial summons. 

Harry turned to face her and she could see the exhaustion in his eyes. "We got so much done, Gin," he muttered. He told her about how they had spent the day methodically working through Grimmauld Place, curse by curse, room by room, with Bill leading the effort. 

He told her how impressed he was, seeing Bill in his element for the first time—and said wryly how he wished Bill would have been by more during their summer at Grimmauld Place to help clear some of the cursed objects. It had been slow, painstaking work, each broken curse leaving behind a grimy residue in the air, which explained the strange sheen on his skin and clothes.

He told her how Kreacher, despite everything, had done his best to mend the damage left behind by the Death Eaters—scrubbing, patching, and repairing what he could—and that they'd left off the day on better terms than ever.

He told her how much it meant to him to have her family there with him, reminding him that they were as eager for and invested in his future as he was, as Kreacher had called it the 'House of Potter.' 

Ginny listened quietly as Harry spoke, watching the way he ran a tired hand through his already-messy hair. He wasn't just worn out from the day's labor—this house carried a weight that went far beyond its physical state. It was history and legacy and loss all tangled together, and now it was his responsibility.

She stepped closer, her hand finding his. "Sounds like a hell of a day," she murmured.

He let out a breath, squeezing her fingers lightly. "Yeah," he admitted. "But we were getting somewhere." A pained look crossed his face. "And now…"

Ginny finished the thought that had been needling her all afternoon as well. "Now the war comes crashing back at us," she said.

"Why won't it just end, Gin?" he asked, leaning his forehead against hers. "Why won't it just let me move on?"

Ginny leaned into him. "Do you remember what you told me when I said the same thing?" she asked. She felt him sigh and relax against her. "We're all here . Hurting together . Some days are going to be hard. But…" she pulled back and cupped his cheek, drawing his gaze to hers. "But maybe it's not about all the things in our way," she continued. "Maybe it's about finding that one thing that makes everything else line up. The thing that keeps us going, even when it's hard."

Harry searched her face, something shifting in his expression. Slowly, he exhaled, letting his forehead rest against hers. "You always know what to say," he murmured.

Ginny smirked. "I listen to good advice."

A small huff of laughter escaped him, and the weight in his shoulders seemed to ease just a little more. "You give it, too."

"So," Ginny said, a smile daring its way onto her face. "Tell me more about this so-called Noble House of Potter."

Chapter Text

June 18, 1998

The scent of dust, old parchment, and lingering spell residue became almost familiar—though not quite welcome—over the next few weeks. Grimmauld Place was still far from hospitable, but it was no longer actively trying to kill them, which Harry considered a success. 

In that same stretch of time, they had received another letter from Ron, updating them on the situation in Australia. Hermione's parents had been found, but the process of restoring their memories was proving more complicated than anyone had hoped. Hermione had been able to remove the block on their memories, but the presence of the false memories made it difficult for Mr. and Mrs. Granger to trust anything they were being told. It wasn't anger, exactly—just deep uncertainty, an unavoidable suspicion that kept them from fully accepting what was happening and reconciling real and fabricated memories. 

Adding to that the lives they'd built in Australia over the past year, and it left them deeply upset. Hermione was struggling under the weight of it all, throwing herself into research, as if sheer effort could bring them back to her. The healers at Lorien House—the Australian equivalent of St. Mungo's—were working carefully with the Grangers to help them separate and compartmentalize their identities, but it was slow, slogging, suspicious work. Ron, for his part, was doing his best to be there for her, but even he admitted he wasn't sure how to help.

Harry had read the letter more than once, unsure of what to say in reply. He wanted to reassure them, to tell Hermione that it would all work out in time—but what did he know about repairing fractured families? All he could do was hope that, like Grimmauld Place, time and effort would eventually make something broken feel whole again. In the meantime, he was almost grateful for the endless work the house demanded. Scrubbing away the remnants of the Black family's influence, undoing curses, and peeling back decades of neglect gave him something tangible to focus on—something he could fix with enough effort. Unlike Ron and Hermione's situation, this was a problem with a clear solution, even if it took time.

Fleur stood nearby, arms crossed, surveying the latest cleared section of the house with a critical eye. They'd made more progress than he had thought possible, but the work had been slow, tedious, and at times, downright disgusting.

He leaned against the drawing room doorway, watching as Ginny tied her hair up, her face streaked with dust. It had been more than a week since the last grimy, greasy residue from curse-breaking had filled the air, but it had settled over most surfaces of the house and was irritatingly resistant to cleaning charms. Fleur had explained it as one of the less dangerous—but more irritating—consequences of curse-breaking.

The three of them had taken the lead on the restoration. Harry and Ginny would meet with Fleur nearly every day after their morning workouts and Quidditch practice. While Mr. and Mrs. Weasley helped when they could and Bill popped in to tackle the worst of the curses that he'd missed during the initial pass-through. Though between Mr. Weasley's work at the Ministry, Mrs. Weasley divided between the Burrow, watching Teddy, and helping George as well, and Bill's work at Gringotts; it was mostly left to Harry, Ginny, and Fleur.

They had started by purging the worst of the house's lingering curses from their first visit. Fleur had taken the lead, ensuring every hex, ward, and lingering Death Eater trap was neutralized before they touched anything. Luckily that had only taken an additional few days and they'd emerged relatively unscathed aside from a few easily-remedied blisters.

After securing the house itself from dark magic, they had tackled the overwhelming problem of aesthetics. That had taken far longer, and was far more difficult, than Harry had anticipated. Though the level of danger had been set mostly back to where it had been during Harry, Ron, and Hermione's stay at Grimmauld Place through their time on the run, the house had seen better days. 

The wallpaper was first to go, and that had been its own special kind of horror. Some of it peeled away in long strips, revealing layers of older, equally revolting designs underneath. Other parts seemed to fight them, curling back onto the wall or disintegrating into foul-smelling dust the moment they tried to scrape it off. 

Then there was the carpet. Or what was left of it. Harry had made the mistake of ripping up one of the first sections without checking it for pests. He would never forget the absolute wave of doxies and spiders that came skittering out from underneath. It had taken nearly an hour to clear them all, and in the end, they had simply vanished the rest of the carpeting rather than risk any more surprises. 

Ginny had taken special pleasure in banishing the dust-choked emerald rugs embroidered with elaborate, slithering snakes. Beneath the rotting carpet, the wooden floors were warped and damaged, but with a few solid Reparo charms, Fleur had led them through restoring most of the floorboards.

With the house finally clear of its worst offenders, they moved on to fixing what was actually broken . A few walls had cracks running so deep Harry was half-convinced the house was on the verge of collapsing in on itself. Mr. Weasley had assured him that ancient wizarding homes had their own kind of resilience, but even so, they reinforced the weaker spots with magic and repaired where necessary. 

The staircases had been another issue—one of them had given out completely when Ginny stepped on it in the wrong spot, sending her tumbling halfway through the step in a shower of dust and splinters. After that, they stopped cutting corners and checked every single step, floorboard, and railing before declaring it safe.

The fireplace had been unusable, packed with soot and the remnants of some horribly toxic-looking concoction that a Death Eater had apparently spilled inside it. Fleur warned against lighting the fireplace until it could be properly cleaned, as there were some potions and poisons that could be activated by the heat and dispersed throughout the house. So Kreacher had spent an entire day scrubbing it clean with elvish magic while Harry worked on fixing the Floo connection. 

It had required a trip to the Ministry with Percy and a lot of paperwork, but after quite a bit of effort, however, they finally had a working fireplace and a direct line to the Burrow, which Fleur had immediately tested—just to make sure they weren't about to get stuck mid-travel. He hadn't yet set up its connection to the rest of the Floo Network, but he was already planning to set up a connection to Shell Cottage so they weren't using so much Floo powder—a huge bag of which was already number one on his shopping list.

"I 'ave heard quite a few stories about your, ah…misfortunes with ze Floo," Fleur said teasingly as she stepped gracefully back into Grimmauld Place after that first successful trip. "If I were you, I would not 'ave wanted to be ze first to test a new connection either."

Harry had wanted to retort, but she wasn't wrong , and she was also helping him without any expectation of payment or reward. So he gratefully held his tongue, trying to ignore the pained look on Ginny's face as she struggled not to laugh.

They finally moved on to more of the aesthetics. Every room had been drowning in Black family influence, from snake-themed candelabras to portraits of scowling ancestors. The hideous snake carvings along the staircase banisters had to be transfigured into something else entirely, as every attempt to remove them manually had been met with biting and hissing. The proud Slytherin influence had been vanished or removed, much to Kreacher's chagrin. 

The old house-elf had swallowed his suffering as the portraits, elf heads, and tapestries were pulled down and set into the basement storage room behind the boiler—which, honestly could have been turned into another bedroom or office if it didn't feel so much like a dungeon. Harry finally noticed the elf's misery and had given him permission to express himself freely…and then Kreacher pitched a hell of a fit, bellowing and sobbing in the back room, surrounded by portraits, serpent-shaped sconces, and other remnants of the Black family's legacy. He wailed about his old Mistress's honor, about the desecration of a noble house, and about the shame of serving such ungrateful masters. 

Harry, Ginny, and Fleur had left him to it, exchanging glances but deciding it was best to let Kreacher vent. Kreacher had earned that much trust from him over the years, and they knew the elf would come around in his own time. Sure enough, after what felt like an hour of muffled curses and dramatic lamentations, Kreacher had emerged, his eyes red-rimmed but his posture straight. Without a word, he had scuttled off to brew tea, as if the whole ordeal had never happened.

From then on, he had worked with them rather than against them—though he did insist on salvaging a few heirlooms that "were not too disgraceful to be kept." He had been the only one able to fully eradicate the last remnants of the moldering wallpaper, muttering about the foolishness of his "young Master" who didn't appreciate a "proper house." 

Though he blushed and was furiously beside himself when Harry thanked him and praised his work.

By the end of it, the house felt different. Not quite warm, not quite welcoming—but no longer oppressive. The air felt lighter without the heavy green drapes, finally allowing natural light to spill into rooms that had long been cloaked in gloom. Fleur had found a set of elegant, enchanted sconces in one of the less-damaged storage rooms, and with a bit of charm work, they provided a warm, golden glow instead of the eerie, flickering greenish hue left behind by the Black family's preferences.

There was still plenty to do. Furniture needed replacing—Harry wasn't exactly certain what his preferred style might be, but he knew it wasn't "amputated troll feet"…or anything that looked like it might belong to the Dursleys. Harry hadn't even touched the restoration of Sirius's and Regulus's rooms. The Black Family Tapestry was still an eye-sore tribute to blood purity, and Walburga's portrait was still causing issues, but for the first time, Harry could walk through Grimmauld Place and see the possibility of a home instead of a tomb.

"I think we've finally convinced this house we're not leaving," Ginny said, wiping her hands on her jeans.

Fleur huffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Perhaps. But I am not so sure it 'as forgiven us for even making ze attempt."

Harry smirked, pushing off the doorway and stepping into the drawing room. "It'll just have to get used to it." The room was clean and bright, lit by the new sconces and the sunlight streaming through the large—and now grime-free—windows. 

"Ah, yes, well, zere is still much zat must be replaced," Fleur said with a delicate sniff, casting a disdainful glance at ze moldering couch cushions before nodding toward ze piano. "I am no expert, but I would say zat piano needs far more zan just tuning."

Harry nodded, remembering the curse Bill had removed from it—he'd explained that it was an animated snare curse that would have caused the piano's strings to ensnare and suffocate anyone who happened to sit at it and attempt to play.

Ginny slung her bag over her shoulder and stretched. "Might want to hire some sort of decorator," she said offhandedly.

Harry frowned. "That would mean telling someone else where this place is," he said, grumbling. He wasn't exactly sure why that thought worried him, but hoped it was just a leftover reflex from the war, like sleeping with his wand within reach.

"You should just ask Andi," Ginny said. "Her house looks great. I bet she'd know what to do with this place."

"She's a full time healer with a baby grandchild," Harry countered. Adding more to Andi's plate was the last thing he wanted to be doing.

"You should at least ask," Ginny said. "Maybe she knows someone who can help."

Harry shrugged, still not entirely convinced. He didn't see why he couldn't just go into some Muggle furniture store and buy whatever was cheapest. One glance at Ginny, however, told him she knew exactly what he was thinking, and she fixed him with a terribly unimpressed glare.

"If Ginny is going to be living 'ere after 'Ogwarts, she should 'ave a say, non?" Fleur added casually.

Harry's snapped around to Fleur so fast he made himself dizzy. "How did—Ginny isn't—we're not…"

Fleur fixed him with a second, terribly unimpressive glare. "Everyone who sees ze two of you know you're in love," she said, her gaze softening as she did. "You don't do things 'alfway, 'Arry. So when we see you do something, we know it is something you believe in. 'Fixing up ze 'ouse' and 'aving a future'—zere are only a few things zat can get a man thinking zis way." She gave him a knowing smirk before turning to Ginny. "And Ginny is 'ere, 'elping you clean zis 'orrifying 'ouse instead of being out wiz 'er friends or flying on 'er broom."

Harry half expected his face to start burning with embarrassment, but strangely nothing happened. He broke into a wide grin and glanced at Ginny, whose red-cheeked grin mirrored his own.

"You're right," he said, fighting down his grin. "We'll talk to Andi and see if she has any ideas. I guess it's kind of her family home, too."

Ginny cocked an eyebrow. "You also haven't done anything with the top floor yet," she said.

"I know," Harry muttered uncomfortably. "But it feels wrong to ask you two to help me with that kind of a mess." He rubbed the back of his neck self consciously. 

Ginny put a hand on his arm, and his heart swelled at the tender gesture. "You heard Fleur," she said with a soft grin. "It's basically my room, too."

Harry nodded, grinning back. She always knew what to say.

"Although I can't believe you gave up the master bedroom," she teased, poking him in the chest.

Harry smirked. "I suppose if you really want to live in the same room that Walburga conceived her children and probably died in…" 

"Of course you're fine sleeping in Sirius's room with the Muggle girls in swimsuits," Ginny pointed out with a mocking roll of her eyes. "No telling what he got up to in there, but I'm sure—knowing Sirius—that it was entirely harmless."

Harry scoffed. "Oh please, one look at this place and any girl Sirius brought back here would run screaming for the hills," he said.

"Given it a lot of thought, have you?" Ginny asked, a triumphant smirk on her face. She thought she had him.

He fought a smirk of his own. "Sirius told me so," he said. He chuckled as an adorable look of mock frustration. His grin softened. "And of course I thought about it. I would never ask you to live somewhere if it wasn't something you could stomach."

Ginny looped her arms around the back of his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. "Somehow you always know what to say, Mr. Potter."

Harry grinned into the kiss. "Well, as much as I hate to convince you otherwise," he said, pulling back. "Would you help me clean, disinfect, and scour Sirius's childhood-and-teenage bedroom tomorrow?"

"I think you mean your bedroom," Ginny said, kissing him again.

"Our bedroom," he said, before he realized the implication of the words. 

Ginny's eyes widened warningly, and his mouth snapped shut with an audible click. They both shot a cautious glance at Fleur, whose knowing smirk told them everything they needed.

"If anyone asks, I was in ze ozer room when you said zis," she said coyly.

A funny look crossed Ginny's face, but she nodded and said, "Our bedroom." She squeezed his hand. "But before we do anything I need to get something to eat. I haven't eaten since lunch."

Harry found Fleur's gaze and they rolled their eyes together. 

"Ze legendary Weasley stomach," Fleur teased affectionately.

"Should we try and meet Bill in the Alley for something to eat?" Harry asked, glancing down at his watch. It was closing in on five o'clock. "My treat. As a thank you," he insisted.

Harry could see Ginny start to formulate an objection, but Fleur was right; the legendary Weasley appetite was a difficult opponent to overcome.

Ginny acquiesced with a reluctant sigh. She really hated even the perception that he was spending too much money on her. And—to her credit—he supposed he had been a bit carefree with his newly won financial independence; buying her a new broom, taking her out to dinner. But honestly, what was the point of all the money if he couldn't spend it on the people who meant most to him? He—Harry James Potter, who spent the first eleven years of his life unwanted and living in a cupboard under the stairs with only overly-large hand-me-down clothes—was wealthy . 

That thought alone was almost mind-boggling. 

And sure, he hadn't done anything to earn it beyond being born "lucky"—an absurd thought in itself given the last seventeen years—but it wasn't like he was spending it on himself, or even spending all that much. It was dinner, for his girlfriend and her family. 

Guilt gnawed at him suddenly, and he found himself wrestling with the idea that he should do something more productive or worthy with what he'd been left. But he stuffed the worry aside as they packed up and closed the house down for the night. Harry called Kreacher to him before they left, and the elf appeared with a bow.

"We're done for the day," Harry told him, to which Kreacher replied with a nod. There was still an uncomfortable stiffness to Kreacher when Harry communicated things to him, but Harry could tell the stodgy old elf was trying. "We might not be back until this weekend. We have our usual dinners with Andi tomorrow."

Kreacher visibly flinched at the name, grinding his teeth. The first time he mentioned Andi around Kreacher he'd been treated to an impassioned grumbling about traitors to the House of Black and "what would the Mistress say?" 

Until Harry had reminded him that the Mistress was dead and that it was his house now. He'd stressed Andi's importance to him—much to Kreacher's dismay and revulsion—and had asked Kreacher to treat her with respect. 

It was clearly a struggle for Kreacher to unlearn decades of repeated ideology, but he was coming around. He only jolted and snarled to himself now whenever Harry mentioned anyone who had been blasted from the Tapestry.

Said tapestry was actually what Harry was hoping to talk to Andi about at dinner. He had no attachment to it, but he wondered if there was maybe some part of her that wanted to keep it, maybe as something to show Teddy when he was older. Harry relished every story he could find about his parents, but he'd grown up knowing nothing about them and having nothing to tie him to that part of his family. He would have given anything to have something that proved he'd belonged somewhere other than his spot under the cupboard.

One thing was certain, though: Harry wanted the Tapestry gone. He didn't want to see the faces of blood-purity fanatics every time he walked into the drawing room. 

And anything that would remind him of his time at the Dursley's in even a roundabout way had to go. Harry had barely spared them a thought in the month-and-a-half since he'd stopped running for his life. He'd received an owl from Dedalus Diggle a few days after returning to the Burrow letting him know that his…family was safe and their return home was being arranged. Harry had read the letter, given the own a treat, written a quick "thank you" return note, and then sent the owl off so he could help the Weasley's prepare for Fred's funeral.

It was hard to believe it had been a month since then. Things were still raw sometimes, if he found himself thinking of Fred, and he had learned quickly exactly what it looked like when Fred crossed Ginny's mind. But strangely enough he didn't feel the same sharp grief in his chest when he thought of Sirius or Remus. He still felt the heaviness of it, but the pain was… less somehow. Scabbed over. Healing. 

He glanced around the old house, raw and heavy itself, and rolled his eyes. Ginny caught this, and gave him a questioning look. 

He shrugged. "I hate metaphors," he grumbled.

Ginny looked at him like he'd cracked, and somehow that made Harry just love her more . 

Harry turned back to the elf. "Kreacher, we've cleaned up the house pretty well. Would you like to stay here again?"

"In Kreacher's space?" the elf asked, his eyes gleaming. 

Harry frowned. The idea of Kreacher making another nest next to the boiler was far from appealing for many reasons, not the least of which was the fact that it reminded him all too much of his cupboard at the Dursleys. Kreacher deserved more than that. But getting into that with Kreacher could take a while to get through and convince him of, and he'd promised Ginny…

"Temporarily," Harry cautioned, hoping to placate the elf, to reward him somehow . Until the possibility of returning to his space came up, the happiest Harry had seen him was when he'd dragged a battered Mundungus to him and when he'd led the house elves of Hogwarts against the army of Death Eaters.

Kreacher bowed deeply and skulked off, muttering soothingly about "Kreacher's space" under his breath as he headed down into the basement.

Harry did his best to put that out of mind, then headed out onto the stoop with Ginny and Fleur. They Apparated to Diagon Alley from within the bounds of the Fidelius and Unplottable enchantments, ensuring that no passing Muggles would see. Arriving at the designated Apparition point for Gringotts, Fleur entered the bank quickly to find Bill while Harry and Ginny waited outside. It had been a month since he'd made his amends with the bank, but he didn't exactly feel welcome inside.

"I can't believe you're just still Apparating around the country without a license," Ginny teased. She'd had to Apparate with either her brothers, Fleur, or her parents, and she made a point of needling him every time she did, since she couldn't Apparate with him if he were doing so without a license like some sort of delinquent.

He shrugged, like he did every time, and tried to play off some nonchalance. "I'll do it eventually." It wasn't like Kingsley was going to send Hit-Wizards after him for Apparating without a license. Then again, it wouldn't look great for one of his new Aurors to be breaking the law… 

Bill and Fleur emerged a few minutes later, thankfully distracting Harry from his worries. Bill pulled Ginny into a hug and patted Harry's arm roughly; in the same affectionate way that he'd greet Ron, George, or Charlie—Percy's greeting was always a solid, enthusiastic handshake.

"Already sent a Patronus to Mum and Dad letting them know you'll be having dinner out with us. And so they don't worry," he said, nudging Harry gently. 

Harry grimaced; he wasn't used to checking in with people.

"So where are we going?" Bill asked as they headed down the steps from Gringotts and into the Alley. "Obviously nowhere with a dress code…" he gave them all a wary glance up and down, "or appearance code."

Harry glanced down and grimaced for the second time in as many minutes. He was covered in sweat, grime, dust, and…he didn't want to know what else, from the work at Grimmauld.

"No need to scrub up for little ol' me," Bill teased with a grin. He slung his arm around Fleur's shoulders and pulled her close to him. "House still giving you trouble?"

"A lot less than last time you were by," Harry said, brushing some of the residue from his clothes self-consciously. "We still haven't gotten around to the top floor…Sirius's—err," he spared a glance at Ginny, who shook her head in warning. He settled on a half-corrected, "my room. And Regulus's."

"Not a fan of the big green snake decorations?" Bill asked with a crooked grin.

Harry chuckled and shook his head, remembering the basilisk, Nagini, and all the hissing snake decorations. "Had my fill of giant snakes, thanks."

"Bad time to mention the housewarming pet I got you then?" Bill asked with a laugh. "You're a fan of boa constrictors, right?"

"Only the one I accidentally sicked on my cousin at the zoo," Harry muttered, which only made Bill laugh more.

They chatted a bit more about their week, but Harry quickly realized that Fleur had kept Bill well-informed about everything happening at Grimmauld Place. He supposed he shouldn't have been so surprised. Now that he was paying attention—now that he had a reason to pay attention—he noticed the small but telling details about other couples. How Mr. Weasley, despite being gone all day, was never out of step with what had happened at the Burrow. By breakfast the next morning, he would be discussing everything with them as if he had been there himself.

That…hadn't been what he'd seen growing up. His aunt and uncle had traded gossip, but very little about their daily lives ever seemed to stick with one another. Uncle Vernon would grumble about work, Aunt Petunia would complain about the neighbors, and Dudley would boast about whatever he'd done that day, but none of it ever felt like a real conversation—just noise filling the gaps between meals and television. There was nothing real, no sense that they were working together, just three people orbiting around one another in the same house.

But with the Weasleys, with Bill and Fleur, even with Hermione's stories about her parents, Harry saw something different. Something he hadn't quite grasped before: the quiet, unconscious way people in real partnerships stayed woven into each other's lives. They listened, they remembered, they carried pieces of each other's days even when they were apart. It was something built over time, with care and intention, and now—standing in Grimmauld Place, watching Bill nod along as Fleur filled in the gaps of his absence—Harry realized just how much he wanted that for himself.

"Well, if you're up for trying something new," Bill said with a grin, "a place called the Broom & Badger just opened last week. Supposed to be very fun—I've been hearing about it nonstop at work."

Ginny gave him a skeptical look. "In a good way, right?" she asked carefully, shooting Harry a worried glance.

"Yeah, of course," said Bill, feigning offense. "It's apparently modeled after a new Muggle thing called a 'gastropub,' which—when Sampson explained it—just sounded like the Leaky Cauldron. But he also said  the words 'butterbeer-braised lamb shank' and…" he turned to Harry and put his hands on Harry's shoulders, looking at Harry with a solemn intensity that made Harry's stomach drop. 

"It would make knowing that you and my sister sneak around our parents' house at night—sharing rooms and beds—a lot easier to ignore," Bill said gravely. "And a lot harder to talk about."

Harry's brain stuttered to a halt, and he struggled to form a coherent thought. Suddenly, the people around him seemed impossibly loud and entirely too tuned in on their conversation. He opened his mouth, utterly lost for a response.

Then the corner of Bill's mouth twitched, and Harry let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding.

"The…err…'Broom & Badger' sounds great, Bill," he said lamely. 

Bill nodded in exaggerated approval, as if to say finally, you're catching on, and pulled Harry into a side-hug. Over Harry's head, he shot Fleur a pointed look and gestured at him, as if to silently ask can you believe this one ?

"If it's so new do you think we'll be able to get a table?" Harry asked as they set off down the Alley.

Bill laughed and ruffled his hair. "You're Harry Potter," he said with a teasing shake of his head. "If a restaurant had to choose between sitting you, Merlin, or Dumbledore they'd sit Merlin and Dumbledore together and give you your own table."

Harry scoffed and rolled his eyes, prying himself from under Bill's arm and finding Ginny again. She grinned up at him, her eyes dancing with amusement. He knew they were right and it infuriated him.

If he thought the looks and whispers sent his way when he was "the Chosen One" were bad, the ones he received as "the Man Who Won" were ten times worse. 

The Broom & Badger was packed. The moment they stepped inside, the scent of roasted meats, butterbeer, and something faintly smoky filled the air. Golden candlelight flickered off polished wood, and the steady hum of conversation and laughter rolled through the room, occasionally punctuated by the clatter of cutlery and the cheerful pop of a cork being pulled from a bottle.

Harry had to admit—it had a cozy charm. He might have actually liked the place if he didn't feel like half the patrons were already trying to steal glances at their group.

The host, a young man in crisp robes and a harried expression, barely looked up from his ledger when they approached. "Evening," he said briskly. "If you're looking for a table, we're fully booked for the next—" He flipped a page with a sigh. "—hour and a half, at least. Bar's open, though."

Bill leaned in with an easy smile. "Any chance you could squeeze us in?"

The host barely glanced up. "Not unless someone suddenly decides to drop dead."

Ginny arched her brow. "Charming."

The host still wasn't paying them much mind as he scribbled something in his ledger. "What name should I put you down under? If something opens up, I can—" Then he finally looked up. His eyes flicked from Bill to Ginny to Fleur…and then landed on Harry.

His quill froze mid-stroke.

"Oh." The host swallowed. "Oh."

Bill, to his credit, managed to suppress a smirk. Fleur simply arched a perfectly unimpressed brow. Harry managed something between a friendly smile and a grimace. He forced out an awkward "hello."

The host's demeanor shifted so quickly Harry almost felt bad for him. Almost.

"I—er—perhaps I could find something sooner," the host said hurriedly, snapping his ledger shut. He turned to scan the dining area, gaze landing on a cozy corner booth. "Give me just one moment."

Harry could hear the barely-contained whispering from a few nearby tables, but before he could even start to feel uncomfortable, Ginny leaned in and whispered, "Should've led with Harry Potter."

He gave her a dry look.

Moments later, the host returned, beaming a little too eagerly. "Right this way," he said, gesturing toward a table that had seemingly cleared itself out of nowhere. "Enjoy your evening."

Harry slid into the booth, trying to make himself smaller by hiding behind his menu in the corner beside Ginny. Somehow that made the eyes on him feel even worse.

Fleur looked around, pointedly unafraid to make eye contact with the gawkers from the nearby tables. They at least had the presence of mind to look away. "Usually, it is me who gets all ze attention," she said, nodding thoughtfully. "Zis is a nice change."

"Bully for you," Harry grumbled. 

Ginny smirked and leaned into him, her voice low enough that only he could hear. "Should've worn your Invisibility Cloak."

"Remind me next time," Harry huffed a quiet laugh, but before he could say anything else, a waitress appeared at their table, balancing a tray with four glasses and a bottle of deep ruby wine that seemed to shimmer under the dim lights.

"Compliments of the house," she said with a bright smile, setting the bottle down with a flourish. "Finest Elf-Pressed Starfire Reserve."

Bill let out an impressed whistle. "Blimey, they don't mess around here, do they?" Harry wasn't sure what amused him more—the free wine or Harry's discomfort.

The waitress beamed, but her gaze flickered to Harry. "Would you like to try a taste before I pour?"

"Oh, no really, I'm sure it's fine," Harry started to say. But Fleur cut him off by nodding graciously.

Fleur took the offered glass and swirled the liquid before taking a delicate sip. She considered it for a moment, then gave an approving hum. "C'est magnifique."

The waitress practically glowed at the praise as she poured generous servings into each glass. "I'll be back in a moment for your orders," she said, before bustling off, sparing Harry one last, not-so-subtle glance over her shoulder.

Harry groaned, tipping his head back against the seat. 

"I am sure we could ask for somezing else if you do not like ze wine," Fleur said gently.

Harry shook his head furiously. "No, that's not—I…" he said, trailing off with a sigh when he saw the teasing gleam in Fleur's eyes as she took another sip of wine.  

Bill chuckled, lifting his glass. "Oh, come on, mate. It's not every day you get free wine just for existing."

Ginny frowned at her brother. "Well you're not the one watching the waitress try and make eyes at your boyfriend."

Bill cocked an eyebrow, then glanced pointedly at Fleur and back to Ginny. "Yeah. I'm sure I have no idea what that's like," he deadpanned. 

Fleur sipped her wine with a knowing smile. "And yet, I suspect 'Arry would gladly pay for his own drinks if it meant no one stared at 'im like a particularly rare creature at ze zoo."

"Exactly," Harry muttered. For the second time that night, he remembered the boa constrictor and eleven year old Dudley banging on its enclosure.

Bill grinned. "Let them get it out of their system." He motioned to the pub around. "This place can only exist because we won. Do you think Voldemort would let a Muggle-style pub open in Diagon Alley?" 

Harry grunted his acknowledgement.

"There's only so many ways a place like this can thank you," Bill continued. "You did something important. You're stuck with people knowing it—and with this very expensive, very free wine. So drink up, mate."

Harry sighed, but as he took a sip, he had to admit…it wasn't bad. And, if he were being honest, it was nice to be able to get Bill a table at a place he'd clearly been excited to try. That was the whole point of the gesture, he reminded himself; to show his appreciation for what Bill, Fleur, Ginny—all the Weasleys really—had done for him.

That was what adults did, right? They ignored things like bills and receipts and took their friends and family out to dinner to thank them. He sat a little straighter and set his jaw. He'd endure the public spectacle of it if it meant they could all have a good time. This was…normal. 

"Well dinner is on me then," Harry said. He stopped Bill and Fleur before they could object. "I mean it. I would have had no idea where to start with the house if it weren't for you, Bill. I don't know what the going rate is for a privately-hired curse-breaker, but I'm willing to bet it's more than just dinner at a pub."

Bill sighed in defeat and looked at Fleur, who just gave him a knowing look and smiled proudly.

"Without Fleur I'd be…I dunno—stuck between the floors somewhere," he said, thinking back over the last two weeks. "Or still dealing with that ensnaring jinx on the wallpaper."

Fleur hid a laugh behind her hand. "It would 'ave been funny if it was not also trying to strangle you."

Harry grimaced. It had not felt funny at the time at all. "And Ginny," he said, turning to her. She fixed him with the look that set his heart hammering in his chest every time. His mouth hung open as he tried to say just how much she meant to him, but finding words for that…nothing seemed to do it justice.

He grinned and settled on, "Have I told you how much I love you?"

"Not since we sat down," Ginny said with a matching grin.

"Oh," Bill said, looking pointedly between Harry and Ginny. "We're using the big-L-word, are we?" He exchanged glances with Fleur and some quiet understanding passed between them. He turned back to Ginny. "How long have we been doing that?"

Ginny looked thoughtful for a moment. "Since that trip to the Alley with Ron and Hermione."

"Oh, when he bought you the broom?" Bill asked teasingly. Fleur smacked his arm admonishingly. He sighed. "I'm kidding. I'm obviously happy for you both."

"It's been a month," Harry said quietly as the realization dawned on him. A month—to the day. A month of him saying "I love you" to someone, and meaning it with every fiber of his being. A month of Ginny saying it back—of feeling loved. As far as months went, it was as close to perfect as he'd ever had.

He must have been silent for a while, because when he shook himself back to the moment, he found Fleur looking at him and Ginny proudly. 

"It is a wonderful thing, to be loved by zis family," she said knowingly, sparing a glance at Bill.

Harry felt Ginny's hand squeeze his on their side of the booth. He squeezed back. "It's bloody brilliant."

Their meal passed in a lively mix of conversation and laughter, with Bill grinning like a satisfied Kneazle when his butterbeer-braised lamb shank finally arrived, ordered rare just as he liked it. Fleur made a point to sample everyone's food, declaring each bite acceptable in a way that left Harry suspecting her standards were far higher than she let on. Ginny spent most of the meal stealing chips off Harry's plate without even pretending to ask, flashing him a cheeky grin whenever he caught her.

"If you wanted chips why didn't you order them?" Harry asked after 

Despite the pleasant atmosphere, Harry never quite shook the feeling of being watched. Every so often, he'd glance up to find a few patrons quickly looking away, some whispering behind their hands. He did his best to ignore it, though the creeping awkwardness never quite left him.

Toward the end of the meal, just as Bill was theatrically savoring the last bite of his lamb, a hesitant voice spoke up beside their table.

"Excuse me, Mr. Potter?"

Harry turned to see a small boy—maybe ten or eleven years old—standing beside their booth, practically vibrating with excitement. His parents stood just behind him, both looking slightly embarrassed but determined.

"I—er, I hope we're not interrupting," the father said, shifting nervously. "We just…wanted to say thank you." He glanced at his wife before continuing. "For everything you've done. For all of us."

Harry felt his stomach twist with discomfort, as it always did when people thanked him like this. He sat up a little straighter, rubbing the back of his neck. "Oh—er, well. I didn't do it alone," he said quickly. He glanced to Bill, Fleur, and Ginny. "There were a lot of us fighting for the same thing."

The boy, undeterred, beamed up at him. "Are you going to be at Hogwarts next year?"

His mother smiled fondly but gently corrected him. "No, sweetheart. We read in the Prophet that he's going to be an Auror."

Harry blinked. That's already public? He hadn't even officially started training yet. It was strange—unsettling, really—to realize that even his career plans were being reported on.

The boy didn't seem to notice Harry's hesitation, his excitement only growing. "That's so cool," he breathed. "But I still wish you'd be there! I'm starting next year, and I really want to be in Gryffindor—just like you!"

Harry felt something tighten in his chest. He'd never really thought about it before—what it would mean to younger students, growing up in a world after the war, looking up to him the way he'd once looked up to Dumbledore. The idea of kids wanting to follow in his footsteps, seeing Gryffindor as something to aspire to because he had been in it…It was overwhelming in a way he wasn't prepared for. His mind suddenly flashed back to that first ride on the Hogwarts Express when he'd met Ron; their Sorting, their uncertainty.

"Well," he said, clearing his throat, "Gryffindor's a great house. But, you know, the Hat sorts you where you're meant to be. It doesn't matter what house you're in as long as you're yourself. I have friends from every house."

"Even Slytherin?" the boy asked, wide-eyed.

Harry gave him a long look, his gaze flitting briefly towards the boy's parents to gauge their reactions. But they, too, were looking at him intently. He squashed down his own conflicted feelings on the Slytherins that had shaped his early time in Hogwarts and instead thought of Slughorn, who had stood with them against Voldemort and his Death Eaters; of Snape, who had given his exceedingly complicated life in service of the cause; of Andi, who had accepted him as family.

"Even Slytherin," Harry said after that long moment. He nodded thoughtfully. "Professor Dumbledore once told me that it's our choices that show us who we really are, not our abilities or what house we're in."

"Wow," the boy whispered before nodding, as if accepting a great truth.

The mother then turned to Ginny with a warm smile. "And you must be Ginny Weasley," she said. "I just wanted to say, we don't believe a word of what those gossip articles say about you."

Ginny blinked, caught completely off guard. "Gossip articles?" she repeated, looking between Harry and Bill in confusion.

Harry shrugged helplessly, though he noticed Bill and Fleur look a bit more uncomfortable, as if they already knew what the woman was talking about. 

The woman grimaced. "They can't seem to decide if you're a heartbreaker or planning a wedding already."

Ginny's mouth fell open slightly. "You're joking."

"Well…" The mother suddenly began rifling through her bag. "I actually think I have the latest issue in here somewhere. My sister sends them to me—mostly for a laugh." 

Harry felt a deep sense of foreboding settle over him as she pulled out a folded copy of Witch Weekly and smoothed it out on the table.

"Oh, here it is!" she said quickly, tapping an article with a rather dramatic headline: The Chosen One's Chosen One—A Fairytale Romance or Headed for Heartbreak?  

"'Heartbreak' ?" Harry goggled, taking the offered paper. 

The Chosen One's Chosen One—A Fairytale Romance or Headed for Heartbreak? 

By Verena Lark, Witch Weekly's Gossip Columnist

Love is in the air—or is it? Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley have been practically inseparable since the fall of You-Know-Who, and the wizarding world simply cannot get enough of them! From strolls through Diagon Alley to intimate dinners with friends, it seems the Chosen One has given his heart away. But is this a storybook romance or a whirlwind destined to fizzle out?

Just last month, Harry—who is set to begin his intense Auror training in August—was seen broom shopping with Ginny, and, in a swoon-worthy moment, personally purchased her a sleek new Nimbus 2000! Talk about grand gestures! But while some see it as proof of his devotion, others whisper that Ginny Weasley has always had her eye on The Boy Who Lived. Was her childhood crush on Hogwarts' most famous student the beginning of true love, or just a lifelong fascination with celebrity?

Of course, Ginny isn't exactly a stranger to romance. The fiery redhead has never had trouble attracting admirers, having dated both a Pureblood and a Muggle-born in recent years. Could her newest match simply be the next name on her list?

And then there's the little problem of distance. With Harry off to train as an Auror and Ginny returning to Hogwarts for her final year, can they possibly keep the spark alive? Some close to the couple say yes, claiming their bond is unshakable. Others, however, aren't convinced. One source spilled, "Long-distance is hard enough without the added stress of hunting down Dark wizards. How many love letters can an owl really carry?"

Their recent cozy dinner at the Leaky Cauldron—joined by several Hogwarts graduates rumored to be joining the Aurors—has only fueled speculation. Are these two building a future together, or is their love already on borrowed time?

One thing is for certain: whether this is true love or just another chapter in their dating history, all eyes are on Harry & Ginny.

But perhaps the real question is this: has Ginny Weasley, after years of admirers, finally found her Half-Blood Prince?

Harry's head was beginning to spin. The food he'd eaten suddenly felt like a rock in his stomach. They had gotten so many things wrong, and people out there were reading it. 

The article continued, detailing how Ginny's past relationships and the supposed "distance problem" between him and Ginny were cause for concern. Harry sat back, feeling suddenly aware of how much more the world seemed to know about him than he was comfortable with. 

"Like we said," the boy's father assured, "We don't—I don't think anyone really believes this stuff. It's just…you know…gossip." He looked at his wife worryingly.

Harry nodded and swallowed hard, fighting to maintain his composure. 

"Don't worry about it," Bill said, pulling the attention to himself. He forced a tight smile. "I don't think Harry spends a lot of time reading about himself. Not after all the out-there stuff they've printed about him over the years, you know?"

"Oh, of course," the woman's husband said, and Harry became very aware that he was doing a piss-poor job of keeping his cool. "Like we said—we really don't believe much of what they're saying."

Sensing the growing discomfort at the table, the boy's mother gently tugged her son back toward her. "Well, we won't keep you any longer. We just wanted to say thank you." She offered a kind smile, though her eyes flickered with apology.

Harry forced himself to push past his unease, managing a small smile. "Thanks for stopping by," he said, his voice steadier than he felt. He looked down at the boy, who still gazed up at him with wide-eyed admiration. "And I hope you have a brilliant time at Hogwarts next fall. It's one of the most amazing places in the world."

The boy beamed, nodding so enthusiastically his glasses nearly slid off his nose. "I will! And I'm gonna be in Gryffindor—just like you!"

Ginny grinned at that. "I'll see you there!"

With one last round of smiles and quick goodbyes, the family slipped away, leaving behind an awkward silence in their wake.

Ginny plucked the article from his hands before Harry could stop her. She skimmed a few lines, her face twisting into something between disbelief and frustration. "I can't believe this. They've already decided I've got some kind of…'lifelong fascination with celebrity'?"

"Hey, Harry," Bill's voice cut through the sound of his blood pounding in his ears. Harry's gaze snapped to him. "Take a breath," he instructed in that same tone he'd used when working through Grimmauld. "Tell us what's on your mind."

Harry chewed his bottom lip and gestured angrily to the article between them on the table. "How can you stand it?" he asked angrily. Ginny's hand flew to his as his voice spiked. "This stuff about you, Ginny! It's awful."

Ginny waved her hand at the article dismissively. "I dunno if it's 'awful'—it's definitely not great, sure," she said. He goggled. "Harry, they've been saying worse things about both of us all year." She shrugged. "If that's the worst it's going to be, I'm okay with it."

Harry frowned. Why wasn't it bothering her the same way?

"There were a lot of shit articles last year. 'Bout all of us," Bill confirmed with a reluctant nod. "We just did our best to ignore them."

"It is not ze articles zat bother 'Arry. It is not zat zey are about 'im, or zat zey are about Ginny. It is because zey are about 'im and Ginny," Fleur said, fixing Harry with a sympathetic look. "Zis special thing zey 'ave—new, beautiful, wonderful, and theirs —suddenly, ze whole world is talking about it, trying to make it everyone's ."

Harry swallowed hard, and wondered how Fleur had managed to put it into words when he hadn't been able to. 

Bill hummed thoughtfully. "Sorry, Harry, Ginny," he said. "I should have warned you both about the articles. I started getting questions about them from people at work, so I—" he carded a hand through his hair. "I just…ignored it like I always do. I figured they'd get bored and move on. I'm sorry, I—"

"Bill," Ginny reached across the table and took her brother's hand. "It's okay. I don't—Harry's not blaming you."

"No," Harry assured quickly, almost jerking to his feet. "I don't—Fleur's right." He shook his head in frustration. What was wrong with him tonight? Why was he so skittish ?

Bill grinned fondly. "Well, Harry, if it makes you feel any better, I am…touched by how much this means to you," he said, glancing between him and Ginny. "Speaking as a protective older brother, of course, it means the world to us."

Harry let out a long breath and felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. Ginny rubbed his arm soothingly, and he leaned into her touch. 

"Well this feels like as good a time as ever to remind you that tonight's my…treat ," Harry said lamely.

Bill snorted and hid his laugh behind his napkin. Fleur leaned back in her seat and looked away, her lips pinched shut. Ginny had her hands pressed over her eyes as her body shook with barely-contained laughter. 

"You're adorable," Bill said, shaking his head. He glanced around. "You're the most famous person in the room—and maybe the country—but you've said the fewest words all night. You say 'please' and 'thank you' to our waitress. You talked to a little kid and imparted advice from Dumbledore." Bill looked at him like he'd grown six heads. "And everyone in this pub saw that happen. We'll never know it but…you might have just changed his life."

Harry grimaced. "I didn't even ask his name," he said.

"They didn't offer either," Bill said. "People are drawn to you because you don't embrace the fame and…all that shit."

Fleur sighed dramatically. "Mon petit chou, Beel 'as such a way of making zings more complicated zan zey need to be," she said, turning to Harry. "The restaurant will absolutely not allow you to pay for anything tonight."

Harry grunted in frustration and sank down in his seat. 

"But from one beautifully-scarred man to another," Bill gestured between them and Harry felt a grin twitch at the corners of his mouth. He'd never had someone to joke about that with before. "We did only get a seat because of that mug of yours. So we can call it even."

Bill stuck out his hand. Harry sighed, nodded, and reached to take it, but then Bill pulled it away suddenly. "That said, you are still going to need our help with the house," he gestured to Fleur, who eyed him warily, but didn't object. "And you did stay at our cottage for quite a while. Plus you are sneaking down to her room every night and I feel that—as her eldest brother—I really should say something about that—"

"'Call it even' works," Harry admitted with a heavy sigh. Somehow, Bill had not only managed to steer the conversation away from Harry insisting on paying the bill but had also left him feeling even more indebted to him in the process. 

And—even more infuriatingly—based on the small smirk shared between Bill and Fleur, they both knew it.

As their meal wound down, the conversation drifted to lighter topics—Quidditch practice, what Harry wanted to do with Grimmauld Place once it was cleared out of "all the Walburga " as Bill called it, and Fleur's ongoing efforts to "civilize" Bill's taste in wine. The gossip article, once the center of attention, lay abandoned on the table, and was eventually whisked away along with their empty plates by a discreet waitress.

As Bill and Fleur had predicted, the pub flat-out refused to charge Harry for the meal. The owner himself had come over, flustered and insistent that it was "an honor" and that Harry had "done more than enough for all of them already." Harry had sighed, realizing there was no point in arguing, but before they left, he made sure to leave a very generous tip—enough that Bill told him the staff would be talking about it for weeks. But if they weren't going to let him pay for his own dinner, at least he could make sure the people working there were properly appreciated.

When they finally stepped out into the cool night air, the streets of Diagon Alley were quieter, the earlier buzz of activity settling into a more subdued hum. They made their way toward the Leaky Cauldron, the flickering street lamps casting long shadows as they walked.

At the pub's Floo connection, they paused for a moment. Bill clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder. "We'll have to do this again sometime—under less dramatic circumstances," he added with a pointed look.

Fleur smirked. "Ah, but where would be ze fun in zat?"

With that, she took Bill's hand, and the two of them stepped into the green flames, vanishing toward Shell Cottage.

Left alone, Harry and Ginny lingered for a moment. She looked up at him, her expression unreadable. "You alright?"

Harry exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah. Just…still getting used to all of it." He gestured vaguely, encompassing everything from the whispers, the stares, and the headlines to the surreal experience of being thanked by complete strangers.

Ginny tilted her head, considering him. "We'll figure it out," she said simply, reaching for his hand.

His fingers curled around hers as they stepped into the fireplace together. With a whispered "The Burrow," the world spun away in a rush of green flames.

Chapter Text

June 22, 1998

The air inside the Ministry of Magic was cool and sterile, a sharp contrast to the thick June heat outside. The echo of their footsteps against the polished stone floor felt too loud in the vast atrium, where the newly christened Phoenix of Unity stood gleaming in the morning light filtering down from the enchanted ceiling. 

She glanced at Harry, who walked beside her, his expression unreadable. He'd dressed in a smart Muggle suit—charcoal grey, sharply tailored, fitting him far better than the loose, hand-me-downs of his childhood. Andi had insisted on selecting it for him, making a few subtle adjustments with her wand to ensure it sat just right on his frame. The crisp white shirt beneath the jacket set off his dark hair, and as Ginny's eyes flicked over him, she couldn't help but notice how well the suit accentuated his lean, athletic build. He looked older, more put-together—if not for the tension in his shoulders and the hard set of his jaw, she might have been properly distracted.

He had barely spoken since they left the Burrow, but she could feel the tension rolling off him. His shoulders were set, his jaw tight. He might not have been testifying about himself today, but he would be reliving things that had been burned into his memory. Ginny knew better than to push him to talk, but she slid her fingers against his anyway, threading them together in silent reassurance. He gave her hand a quick squeeze, though his gaze remained fixed ahead.

Her parents walked just in front of them. Her father had been uncharacteristically quiet that morning, his usual chipper morning attitude dimmed by the weight of their purpose today. Even Mum, who had fussed endlessly over Ginny's hair and robes before they left, had fallen silent once they passed through the Ministry's visitors' entrance.

The four of them approached the security desk, where a wizard in navy-blue Ministry robes checked their wands one by one. Ginny tapped her own against the scales he held out, watching the flicker of confirmation in the device before he waved her through. Harry went next, and even though nothing was amiss, Ginny caught the way his fingers curled at his sides, as if resisting the urge to cross his arms. She knew that being in the open without his wand was still something he was uncomfortable with. 

"Mr. Potter, you're expected in Courtroom Seven," the security wizard acknowledged, his voice carefully neutral. "Miss Weasley, you'll be on level two: Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"Thanks," Harry replied. His tone was polite but short. Ginny resisted the urge to glare at the man for the way he was eyeing Harry—as if he weren't quite sure whether to treat him as a hero or a liability.

Once they were through security, they moved toward the lifts, where a familiar figure was waiting for them.

Andromeda Tonks stood with her hands clasped in front of her, dressed in simple yet elegant dark blue robes. Her face was composed, but when she spotted them, her expression softened slightly.

"Harry," Andi greeted first, grasping his elbow lightly before pulling him into a brief hug—which he returned—before she went about greeting the rest of them. Ginny took a moment to marvel at Harry's level of comfort with her after such a short time. He wasn't the most physically affectionate person outside of those he trusted implicitly, but with Andi, there was no hesitation—just quiet understanding.

Ginny supposed it made sense. Andi had lost so much, just as Harry had, and though their grief was different, it had shaped them in ways that allowed for an unspoken kinship. There was no awkwardness in the way he returned the embrace, only a natural ease, as if Andi had always been part of the small circle of people he allowed close.

When they pulled apart, Andi gave him a once-over, her sharp gaze lingering on his suit with a small, approving nod. "Good. You look the part," she said, adjusting the lapel slightly. 

"Thanks for coming, Andi," Harry said, his voice low but steady. "I'm sorry to pull you away from work so suddenly."

Andi shook her head. "Nonsense, Harry. You're family, remember? There's nowhere else I'd rather be right now." She turned to Mum. "Thank you for helping me get in touch with Fleur. She stopped in to look after Teddy while we were out."

Ginny smiled knowingly. "Trust me, Mum was all too happy to suggest it." She ignored the pointed look Mum shot her way, and recalled the conversation from the day the first summons had arrived.

"Yes, well we mothers do enjoy putting our fingers on the scales of our childrens' lives from time to time," Andi said with a grin before sobering. "Are we ready?"

"Ginny's meeting with the prosecution on the Carrows' case is first," Dad explained. 

"Good. I will wait with Harry when he goes before the Wizengamot," she explained further, turning to Harry. She gave him a placating look. "I don't imagine any surprises, but given how your last few experiences in that chamber went…I thought it best to have someone decidedly on your side there."

"I imagine there will be a great deal less hostility this time around," Dad said, forcing a smile. He clapped Harry on the shoulder. "If all goes smoothly with Ginny's meeting I should be able to make yours as well."

Harry nodded absently. 

"Will I be allowed?" Ginny asked.

Dad shook his head, his lips drawn tight. "It's a closed session. Legislative seats only, like your first go-round with them. They're not allowing Hereditary seats or any outside observers. No press either beyond what the Wizengamot agrees to publish." He gave Harry a consoling look. "But I have a seat as a Department Head, so I'll be there if I can."

Dad turned to Andi. "Do you know the status of the Black seat?" he asked.

Andi gave it a moment's consideration. "It's all rather complicated, but I believe it technically belongs to Harry," she said, and Harry's eyes went wide. "It's a Hereditary seat, of course."

"Is that what Neville's gran has?" Harry asked quickly.

Dad nodded. "Most old pure-blood families—especially those counted among the so-called 'Sacred Twenty-Eight'—have Hereditary seats," he explained. "My eldest brother, Percival—maybe you remember him from Bill's wedding—he holds our family seat, but that's a Hereditary seat so he won't be present today." 

"After Orion died, the Black seat passed to Sirius," Andi explained. "But with him in Azkaban and no clear, direct lineage, it was held in abeyance. As his heir, you have the greatest claim to it, if you'd like."

Harry swallowed hard, and Ginny recognized the look in his eyes where he became overwhelmed by a deluge of new information. She took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"None of that matters today," she urged him. He swallowed thickly and nodded.

"Ginny's right," Dad said, patting Harry on the shoulder. "What matters for you today is your recollection of the night Voldemort returned. The Death Eaters that returned to him that night—with your testimony, no one can claim they were under the Imperius curse." 

"I'm sure we can arrange for some more in-depth coverage of Wizengamot procedures later on," Andi said, lips twitching playfully. But the warmth in her expression faded quickly as the lift arrived. "Shall we?"

Harry huffed a quiet laugh at Andi's remark, but Ginny could still feel the tension thrumming beneath his skin. He adjusted the cuff of his jacket as if suddenly aware of it, then exhaled slowly, schooling his expression into one of quiet resolve. Ginny knew that look—he was bracing himself.

She tightened her grip on his hand for a moment before releasing it as the lift shuddered slightly, beginning to slow.

The lift chimed softly as it reached Level Two, and the golden grilles slid open to reveal the bustling corridors of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It was a flurry of movement, witches and wizards in deep purple robes striding purposefully between offices, their arms full of parchment, files, and quills that scratched notes in midair. Aurors in red-trimmed uniforms moved in and out of sight, their expressions sharp and watchful. It was strange seeing the Ministry this way—functional, orderly. Nothing like the last time Ginny had been here, when they had fought their way through chaos to make it to the Great Hall.

Ginny stepped out first, feeling a brief squeeze on her hand before Harry let go. She glanced back to see him standing beside Andi, his expression carefully neutral, but she could see the tension in the set of his shoulders. Dad turned to them with a reassuring smile. "We'll see you down there shortly," he said. "Good luck, Harry."

"Yeah," Ginny added, reluctant to leave him. "We'll only be a bit."

But as the lift doors began to slide closed, something in her rebelled against leaving it at that. Before she could second-guess herself, she stepped forward, caught Harry's lapel, and tugged him down into a swift, fierce kiss. She felt the tension in his frame ease, just for a moment, as he kissed her back. When she pulled away, she kept hold of his suit jacket, searching his face.

"You defeated Voldemort, Harry," she murmured, just for him. "You're the hero of this story. Everyone knows it. This time, they want to hear you speak."

Harry gave her a small nod and a tight smile, and she gave his hand one last squeeze before he stepped back into the lift. The grilles shut, and Ginny caught one last glimpse of him, standing tall in his smart suit, Andi at his side. 

She followed her father down the corridor, her mind still half on Harry and the way he had looked at her as the doors closed. But she forced herself to focus. This wasn't about him right now—this was about the Carrows, about justice for what they had done.

Dad led them through the corridor, stopping in front of an office door marked Cassius Marchbanks, Senior Prosecutor. He knocked twice before pushing it open.

Cassius Marchbanks was an older wizard with thinning silver hair and a long, pointed nose that made him look a bit like a stern heron. He was bent over his desk, scanning a long roll of parchment, but he looked up as they entered, his sharp blue eyes narrowing behind a pair of thick-rimmed glasses.

"Ah, Arthur, welcome," he said, standing and extending a hand. "And you must be Miss Ginevra Weasley." He nodded at Ginny, his gaze assessing but not unkind. "Thank you both for coming."

Ginny squared her shoulders and shook his hand firmly. "I want to see them pay for what they did," she said without preamble.

Marchbanks studied her for a moment, then nodded approvingly. "Good. That kind of resolve will serve us well." He gestured for them to sit. "We have a lot to discuss." He flicked his wand, and a quill on his desk leapt upright, poised over a fresh sheet of parchment. It twitched expectantly, waiting for dictation.

"For the record," he began, his voice crisp and measured, "I acknowledge the presence of Ginevra Molly Weasley, age sixteen, as a witness in the upcoming trial of Alecto and Amycus Carrow. Due to her status as a minor, her legal guardians—Arthur Weasley and Molly Weasley—are also present."

The quill scratched furiously across the parchment, recording every word in neat, slanted script. Ginny resisted the urge to fidget.

Marchbanks folded his hands on the desk and regarded them seriously. "Miss Weasley, the purpose of this meeting is to establish the facts of the case against the Carrows for the crimes they committed during their tenure at Hogwarts." His gaze flicked to her parents, then back to her. "Your testimony, along with that of your peers, will be instrumental in ensuring they are held accountable. You understand that?"

Ginny nodded. "Yes."

"Good," Marchbanks said, sitting back. "Then let's begin with the basics. Can you describe, in your own words, the general atmosphere at Hogwarts during the Carrows' time in authority?"

Ginny took a steadying breath, her fingers tightening in her lap. "It was a nightmare," she said flatly. "They ruled by fear. They encouraged cruelty, punished students for no reason, and forced us to learn the Dark Arts. And if you fought back—" She swallowed hard. "They made an example of you."

Marchbanks gave a grave nod, and his gaze softened. "We'll get into specifics shortly. For now, let's start from the beginning—how things changed after Professor Dumbledore's death and Snape became Headmaster."

Ginny took a deep breath, forcing herself to push past the tightness in her chest. She began recounting the nightmare that had been her final year at Hogwarts. She told Marchbanks how the school had changed the moment they arrived, how fear had settled over the students like a thick fog. The Carrows had wasted no time asserting their dominance—Amycus turning Defense Against the Dark Arts into a lesson in cruelty, forcing students to perform the very curses they had once been taught to defend against. Alecto, meanwhile, had twisted Muggle Studies into hateful indoctrination, punishing anyone who dared to challenge her rhetoric.

"You were romantically involved with a Muggleborn student during your fifth year, right?" Marchbanks asked. His self-writing quill hopped over to another sheet of paper and began taking different notes.

Ginny nodded. "Dean Thomas," she said, before quickly continuing, "but we were done well before the end of fifth year."

"Which is when you became involved with Mr. Potter?" Marchbanks asked.

"Romantically, yes," Ginny answered. "But…Harry's been—I've known him since I was eleven."

"Is this relevant?" Mum asked worriedly.

Marchbanks bobbed his head from side to side. "Probably not. Mr. Potter is the darling of Wizarding Britain right now. The fact that he seems to avoid adulation only makes him more-so. There's enough evidence against the Carrows to dispute any claims of bias on your part, but I prefer to see the whole picture," he explained. 

"Do you think that will be an issue?" Dad asked.

Marchbanks nodded more assuredly this time. "I suspect that's what the Carrows' defense will latch on to," he said. "They can't deny what happened, but they can attempt to dilute your testimony. The defense will probably argue that the Carrows were indoctrinated, swept up in the movement; that you, as a child from a prominent Muggleborn-sympathizing family, are pursuing a vendetta against them."

"That's bullshit!" Ginny snapped.

"I agree, and I'll be characterizing it as such," Marchbanks assured. "But like I said, I need to see the whole picture."

Ginny nodded before continuing. She explained how discipline had become synonymous with torture. Detention was no longer about scrubbing cauldrons or writing lines—it was pain, delivered through curses, beatings, and humiliations designed to break spirits as much as bodies. Students were ordered to hex each other, and those who refused faced worse punishments. The Cruciatus Curse had been used more than once. The older students had tried to shield the younger ones, but defiance only made them targets.

Ginny hesitated for a moment, then pressed on. She told him about Dumbledore's Army, how she, Neville, and Luna had restarted it in secret, determined to fight back however they could. They had sabotaged the Carrows' efforts, protected their classmates, and smuggled supplies to those in hiding. But with every act of rebellion, the Carrows tightened their grip. She described the punishments—the way Neville and Seamus had taken the brunt of them until they had been forced into hiding, how Luna's kidnapping had shaken them all, how the Carrows had tried again and again to crush them into submission.

When she was done her hands were shaking, but she found herself silently thankful that she'd talked about what happened with her family after they'd pulled her from school, and Harry right after the battle. It made it easier to address everything with a relative stranger.

Marchbanks was silent for a moment; even his quill slowed to a stop. His eyes looked hollow. He shook his head quickly and seemed to reorient himself. "You know, I requested this case specifically," he said, his voice tight and clipped. "My aunt, Griselda—you've probably met her, taking your O.W.L.s—she always spoke of the importance of Hogwarts and magical education. I knew things had happened over this past year, knew what had happened, but hearing it from you, so candidly…" He gave Ginny an intensely piercing look. "Thank you."

"Have you spoken to anyone else yet?" Ginny asked.

Marchbanks shook his head. "I have a few more students coming by today, but I wanted you to be the first," he said. "Your proximity and your family's prominence in the war effort—it felt like the correct place to start. Over the next month I'll be speaking with as many students who attended last year as are willing to testify."

"None of the Muggleborn ones though?" Dad asked.

"Not in regards to the Carrows case," Marchbanks nodded. He waved his wand and the self-writing quill stowed itself away in his desk. "I'm putting all of my energy into this case unless asked otherwise."

Ginny nodded, for what felt like the hundredth time.

"I won't lie, it's going to be difficult," he said, glancing from Ginny to her parents and back again. "It's one thing to recount your experiences behind closed doors. It's another entirely to do so in a full room."

Ginny swallowed hard, she was expecting as much.

"You're a minor, so the Wizengamot will have little patience for the defense trying to rile you up and discredit you—for what little they might be able to."

"What do you mean?" Ginny asked.

Marchbanks leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk. "If they can make you seem unreliable it weakens your testimony," he said. "There's no denying what the Carrows did while in power at Hogwarts, but they can cast doubt as to their full investment in Voldemort's cause."

"They tortured children !" Mum shouted, shooting to her feet angrily. 

If Marchbanks was startled by Mum's outburst he didn't show it. "I fully intend to see them pay for what they've done," he said firmly. 

"But you can't guarantee it," Mum said. 

"I can't, and if this were last time, I would be less optimistic," he admitted. "But things have changed. The saying 'fool me once' comes to mind. I have a strong case against them: facts, solid witnesses from yourself and your fellow students, your professors, and…" he smirked. "I have the Carrows themselves."

At Ginny's curious look he explained. "Have you ever cast one of the Unforgivables yourself, Miss Weasley?" 

She shook her head. 

"Did you ever try when the Carrows ordered you to?"

Again, she shook her head.

He eyed her curiously. "Why not? Your wellbeing was at stake—survival even—no one could blame you."

Ginny frowned. By the end of the year, defying the Carrows had become just something she did , something she stood for. They were twisted and they were wrong so she had denied them at every chance. She tried remembering what she'd been thinking when Amycus Carrow first demanded that she practice the Cruciatus on Luna.

"They wanted me to use the Cruciatus on my friend, Luna," Ginny said, her fingers wringing together. She'd never admitted that to anyone; just that she'd refused. "There was a moment when I considered it, briefly. But then…I thought about Harry."

"Potter?" Marchbanks asked. 

Ginny nodded, not feeling the need to explain all the details of their appearances-only breakup. "I knew Voldemort had used it on him when he was fourteen. Dolores Umbridge threatened to use it on him the year after that," she explained. "Harry would never do it. He'd never hurt his friends to save himself." She spared a glance over to her parents. "And neither would anyone else in my family."

Marchbanks smiled. "I have little trouble believing that. What that means, however, is that you don't have the experience even attempting it. The difference between the Unforgivables and most other spells is the intent behind them. To cast them successfully you need to have the deep desire to use the curses for their intended purpose—not just to avoid pain yourself. That's not a type of cruelty that can be faked."

"Or produced under the Imperius," Dad supplied, his brow furrowed thoughtfully. 

"Precisely," Marchbanks said. "We have multiple corroborated accounts of the Carrows using the Cruciatus curse on students, and this can only be of their own free will."

"Then why do it at all?" Ginny asked. "Why waste that whole year teaching children to torture each other?"

"To manufacture it," Mum said, her face ashen. "To reward students for cruelty. To encourage it. And make it easier to find those sympathetic to the cause."

Marchbanks nodded gravely. "And that is going to be their undoing," he said. "Because I am going to make sure our entire world knows it."

Ginny exhaled slowly, feeling a weight lift from her chest. It wasn't gone—maybe it never would be—but saying it aloud, having it written down as evidence against the Carrows, made it feel more real. More permanent.

"That will be all for now, Miss Weasley," Marchbanks said, offering an almost approving look. "Thank you for coming today."

Ginny nodded, standing as her parents did the same. Dad placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently in quiet reassurance. Mum's expression was tight, unreadable, but Ginny caught the way her fingers twitched—like she was holding herself back from reaching for her daughter, from smoothing her hair like she used to when Ginny was small.

They stepped out into the corridor, the heavy door closing behind them, and Ginny let out a breath. Before she could decide what to say next, voices echoed down the hallway.

"—shouldn't take long, should it?"

"Depends," came a familiar voice, tinged with wry humor. "How many crimes do you think they'll let us list before they tell us to take a breath?"

Ginny turned toward the approaching figures, a grin already forming. "Neville!"

Neville barely had time to react before she had pulled him into a quick but fierce hug. He chuckled, squeezing her back before stepping aside to reveal Seamus Finnigan and Susan Bones, both of whom looked equally determined.

"You lot here to give statements?" Ginny asked, already knowing the answer.

"Too right we are," Seamus said. "Can't let you have all the fun, can we?" He tried to grin, but she could tell it was forced.

Susan nodded, her expression serious. "It's time they answered for everything they did."

Ginny glanced between them, her chest swelling with something between pride and relief. They weren't just here to recount what had happened—they were here to make sure the Carrows paid for it.

"Gran said that Harry was going to be down in the courtrooms today, giving statements on Death Eaters," Neville said, his brow furrowed and his eyes hard. "I think she wanted to attend."

"Closed session, I'm afraid," Dad said gently. 

Neville nodded as if he expected as much. "Are you headed down to wait for Harry?" he asked. "We could meet up in Diagon Alley when we're all done. Blow off the rest of the day?"

"Can't imagine Harry will want to head over to Grimmauld for more cleaning," Mum said wryly.  

Ginny shook her head. "He's supposed to meet with Andi's friend again to go over some decorating options," she said. "And he still has to figure out Walburga's portrait."

"What the hell is a 'Walburga?'" Seamus asked.

"Walburga Black?" Neville goggled. "What's Harry doing with her portrait?"

"Harry inherited the Black estate from his godfather," Ginny said. "He's been fixing up their house in London."

"Bloody hell," Seamus muttered. "I'd be jealous of him if it weren't for the whole tragedy of his life."

"Classy, Seamus," Susan said dourly, but Seamus just shrugged it off. "How's Marchbanks?" she asked, turning back to Ginny and her parents.

Ginny searched for the best way to describe the man. "Determined," was the word she settled on. But that seemed to placate Susan well enough.

"Good," she said. "He worked with my aunt a lot while she was head of the DMLE." Ginny wasn't sure exactly what that meant, but she knew Susan well enough after some of their evening gatherings to know how highly she had regarded her aunt. 

"We'll let you three get to it," Dad said, smiling gently.

Ginny bid her former classmates farewell and promised to stop by Diagon Alley with Harry if he was feeling up to it, before following her parents towards the lifts. She still felt tangled up in the weight of her testimony, in Marchbanks' fierce determination, in the memories of what the Carrows had done. 

They had almost reached the lifts when a familiar figure rounded the corner.

Ginny recognized him instantly—not because she saw him often, but because of the way he carried himself. Tall, upright, impeccably dressed, with sharp blue eyes that missed nothing. Her father's older brother, Percival Weasley.

He was the sort of man who looked as though he had never slouched in his life, his expression set into something that, at best, could be described as politely detached. His resemblance to her father was unmistakable, though where Arthur Weasley's warmth made him seem approachable, Percival had an air of quiet austerity. He reminded her more of Percy than of Dad—if Percy had grown up without ever learning how to laugh at himself.

Ginny felt her mother tense beside her. Dad slowed but didn't falter, smoothing his expression into something unreadable.

"Percival," Dad greeted, his voice politely neutral.

"Arthur," Percival returned, offering a stiff nod before his gaze flickered to Ginny. "Molly, Ginevra."

She bristled at the formal use of her full name but hid it well and forced a nod. "Uncle Percival." Her uncle and his side of the family were always more formal than she'd grown up with.

An awkward silence stretched between them before Percival exhaled and glanced at her father. "I'd heard you were here today."

"You too, I see," Dad said, nodding at the file Percival held under his arm.

"Ah, yes. Nothing to do with the trials," Percival assured him. "Some lingering civil matters from the past year." He hesitated, his gaze lingering on Ginny before he added, "I expect you've had a rather difficult afternoon."

Ginny wasn't sure if he meant it as sympathy or just an observation, so she merely shrugged. "It's been a difficult year ."

Percival studied her for a moment, then nodded, though she noticed his discomfort.

"I had hoped to speak with you," he said, directing his attention back to Dad.

Dad raised his eyebrows. "Oh?"

Percival hesitated, then exhaled heavily. "After Fred's…after the funeral, I—" He stopped himself, shaking his head slightly before continuing, "I wanted to talk to you then. But I didn't know how."

Dad's expression shifted, but he said nothing.

"There wasn't anything I could say that would have mattered," Percival admitted. "And by the time I realized there was nothing to say…it felt too late."

Dad sighed, rubbing a hand over his chin. "I'm sorry you felt that way."

Mum pursed her lips beside him, but for once, she held her tongue.

"I wish I'd said something," Percival admitted, swallowing hard. "I still…don't know what I could say." There were tears in his eyes, glistening and unshed. "I can't even imagine, Arthur…everything you've gone through…everything you've all done." He removed his glasses and quickly wiped his eyes. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you…all of you."

Dad studied his brother for a long moment before his expression softened just slightly. It was an odd sight for Ginny; for her entire life her father had been the reasonable and measured one, always the one who had more easily crossed the line between parent and friend, strict and sympathetic. 

But here, he was eerily guarded.

It was Mum that managed to draw him out of his silence, however. She took his hand so precisely and swiftly that Ginny had almost missed it. But her father seemed to visually relax at her touch. He sighed deeply and nodded to his brother.

Percival regarded Mum for a moment. "Elaine has missed you, Molly," Percival added after a pause, his voice quieter. "She talks about you often these days."

That caught Mum off guard. Her arms loosened slightly, and her expression flickered with something almost nostalgic. "I've missed her, too," she admitted.

Ginny didn't know her aunt Elaine very well—only about as well as she knew her uncle. Aunt Elaine was the epitome of well-mannered pureblood. She hadn't spent much time with Ginny's side of the family once her children had grown up—Percival and Elaine's sons were all around Bill's age—but she did remember a few instances growing up where they would stop by the Burrow. Aunt Elaine had always gotten on well with Mum, even if Dad and Uncle Percival had mostly stuck to safer conversation topics and surface-level talks.

"The boys are alright?" Dad asked, his voice carefully measured.

Percival nodded, smiling tightly. "I thank every power in the heavens," he said softly. "Galaad was out of the country quite a bit last year; I think the new administration will be keeping him rather busy overseas." There was a sort of defeated amusement in his voice. 

"Bill and Charlie have the same itch," Dad admitted. 

Percival nodded ruefully. "Erec has been buried in his books since before Bill's wedding," he said. "He took what happened at the Ministry rather hard—was even in contact with Bedivere in France; sent him some of his manuscripts so that he'd always have a record of his work somewhere."

Ginny was at a loss for what they were talking about but Dad seemed to understand. He nodded, but Ginny caught the way he flinched at the mention of his other brother's name. "And Owain?"

Percival grinned. "Owain came back from his apprenticeship last year after Ollivander went missing," he said. "I think he'll keep with that for a while. Last I heard he was taking care of the reopening."

Dad grimaced. "Ron said Ollivander had a difficult time. I'm glad Owain will be there to help him."

Percival shook his head. "He has his head more in the clouds than my twins, but he's more creative than the two of them put together." He smiled wistfully. "He's engaged now. Met her while he was in Finland."

" Finland ?" Dad asked, eyes widening. "And I thought France felt far away."

"Speaking of France." Percival straightened slightly, as if bracing himself. "I'd like for the three of us to clear the air," he said. "You, me, and Bedivere."

Ginny watched her father visibly deflate . "Bedivere?"

"He's coming back," Percival said.

Dad stiffened. "For good?"

"Yes."

Ginny saw her mother's expression tighten, her lips thinning. Dad, on the other hand, just looked stunned.

"He wrote to me a few weeks ago," he said. "He and Argante have made arrangements to return before the school term starts." His gaze flickered to Ginny. "His daughter, Safia, will be attending Hogwarts this fall. Third-year."

Ginny blinked, caught off guard. "I have a cousin I've never met who's starting at Hogwarts?"

"She's a bright girl," Percival said with a nod. "Argante has done well by her."

Mum exhaled sharply, her arms crossing over her chest. "I suppose she'll be just as posh as her mother." 

The topic of the Bedivere Weasley family rarely came up. She knew there was some long-standing animosity between her mum and her aunt Argante that had started during the first war, but after that part of the family moved to France they hadn't received more than a few letters over the years. Though invited, they had not even attended Bill's wedding either.

Percival's expression didn't change, but something in his posture grew tighter. "Possibly. But Bedivere wants to reconnect, and so do I."

Dad tilted his head. "And this is all Bedivere's idea?"

"No," Percival said, shaking his head. "It's mine. I want us to set things right. The three of us. We were all close once."

Dad let out a slow breath before nodding. "We were, weren't we?"

"He feels terrible , Arthur—he and Argante, both," Percival insisted, his voice low. "As do I. But neither of us knew how to…"

This was apparently the wrong thing to say, because it seemed to light a fire in Dad's eyes. His head snapped up and he glared at his older brother. "When Molly's brothers died I felt terrible, too, Percival. I didn't know what to do either ," he snapped. "But I knew the answer wasn't burying my head in the ground or running away ." 

She had never seen her father snarl like that.

"I admired Fabian and Gideon. I admired how they knew what was right and good and fought for it with everything they had," Dad continued, his voice low and harsh. "I loved them for the way they welcomed me into their family, without judgment or criticism." 

Percival winced. 

But Dad forged on. "I tried to do everything in my power to support the woman I loved through everything she had lost," he said. He frowned, swallowing hard. "I will always be grateful for you and Elaine for the support you gave us during that time. But Bedivere left . I needed my brothers, but he left; and as soon as Voldemort disappeared, you did too."

Ginny didn't miss the way her uncle flinched at the mention of Voldemort's name, nor did she miss the way his face contorted into a look of pain and shame.

Percival tried to interject. "Arthur, please, I—"

"When I asked you for help—when I asked you to listen —to believe me that Voldemort had returned, what did you do?" Dad asked in that same harsh whisper. "You did nothing . You did less than nothing. You didn't even reply to my letter. You reached out to Percy—to my son —instead of speaking to me. You told him I was refusing to see sense."

"Potter was just a boy! You were asking to uproot our entire society on his word alone!"

"And he was right ," Dad snapped. "Dumbledore believed him. Alastor Moody believed him. Kingsley Shacklebolt believed him. Minerva McGonagall believed him—"

"They believed Dumbledore , Arthur," Percival objected. "There was good reason to believe Dumbledore had finally made a move to grab power, You-Know-Who had been gone for years and—"

"And I believed him," Dad snarled. "And you should have trusted me. " Dad was almost red with fury. "The same way I had trusted you my entire life. And my entire life I have stood on principle , refusing to be swayed by status, or prestige, or any monetary gain someone might offer if I just bent my moral compass for but a moment. Do you think it was always easy , Percival? To have it lorded over me that I could have so much more if I just fell in line, to watch Lucius Malfoy sneer and mock our family, knowing all along the kind of man he was? I was the one person you should have believed in all of this."

Percival swallowed hard and looked away, unable to meet Dad's furious gaze. "You're right," he admitted softly. "I should have. I just…didn't want it to be true." 

Dad sighed, and the anger seemed to leave him. "I didn't want it to be true either. But it was," he said. "I spent the last three years protecting my family, and I did it without you—without either of you. I spent those three years fearing for my children's lives every day. And I did it without you. I fought a war, and I did it without you. I cradled my son's lifeless body, and I did it without you. I—"

Dad choked back a sob."I buried my boy, and I did it without you."

Her uncle's shame seemed to swallow him where he stood. "I'm sorry you had to do all that alone, Arthur." She was reminded—eerily so—of the contrite looks her brother Percy had been offering them all since the night of the battle.

Dad grimaced. He closed the gap between himself and Percival and Ginny thought for a split second that he was going to punch him the same way she'd seen him punch Lucius Malfoy.

"I wasn't alone, Percival," he said, his voice rough. "Despite everything and every danger, I had my family. My family by blood, and the family I had chosen . And even Percy; he came back to us when we needed him the most. He found the courage to admit when he was wrong and knew it was time to stand up for what was right ." Dad's gaze flashed to her for a brief moment. There were tears in her father's eyes. "I have been proud of that boy since the moment he opened his eyes. I have been proud of all my children—but I was never prouder of Percy than I was that night, knowing how hard it must have been for him to swallow his pride and choose what was right and hard ."

Ginny wasn't sure when it had happened, but Mum was standing beside Dad again, her hand clasped tightly around his. It was surreal, seeing her father like this—seeing the quiet vulnerability in his face, the weight of the past three years pressing down on his shoulders. The roles they had always played felt reversed, tilted on some unfamiliar axis.

"But I have grown prouder every day since that battle," Dad said, his voice steady, without a trace of hesitation. "Prouder of the work he has done to set things right. Prouder of the man he has grown into—and the man he is intent on becoming."

Silence stretched between them, heavy and uncertain.

Dad let out a slow breath. "Your silence, your absence—it hurt more than I can put into words." His gaze locked onto Percival's, unflinching. "But I have been hurt worse since then. And if I can commend Percy so fervently for swallowing his pride and trying to set things right…it would be hypocritical of me to throw your very same efforts back in your face."

Uncle Percival stood rigid, his jaw tight, something raw flickering behind his carefully composed expression. Then, without warning, he surged forward.

Dad barely had time to react before his elder brother was gripping him fiercely, his arms wound tight as though afraid letting go might mean losing him again. The force of it staggered Dad for half a second, but then he was clutching Percival just as tightly.

Somewhere between the tangle of arms and the shaking shoulders, Ginny heard it—choked-out whispers, barely intelligible between quiet sobs.

"I'm sorry."

"I love you."

She couldn't tell who had spoken first. Maybe it didn't matter.

When they finally pulled apart, both men wiped at their eyes, clearing their throats as if embarrassed by their own display. Ginny and Mum exchanged glances but said nothing.

Percival inhaled deeply, composing himself. "If you have a spare evening sometime," he said, his voice rough but sincere, "Elaine and I would love to have you over for dinner."

Dad nodded tightly, seeming to not trust his voice.

Ginny exhaled, glancing between them both. She wasn't sure how she felt about her uncle Bedivere's return, about Uncle Percival's sudden interest in mending fences. But she supposed if her dad was willing to see where it led, she could too.

And as the lift doors slid open behind them, she decided that Hogwarts was going to be a lot more interesting this year than she'd expected.

Harry stood in the middle of the vast, circular courtroom, the stone walls looming high above him. Enchanted torches flickered, casting long shadows over the tiered rows of seated Wizengamot members. Though the room wasn't nearly as packed as it had been during his hearing before fifth year, the weight of all those eyes on him felt just as crushing. 

He remembered the last time he had stood before the Wizengamot—his disciplinary hearing before his fifth year. Then, he had been a terrified fifteen-year-old, blindsided by a trial he hadn't expected, forced to defend himself against accusations that should never have been levied in the first place. He had been alone, outnumbered, and entirely at the mercy of people who saw him as either a liar or a nuisance.

Now, things were different. He wasn't on trial; he was here to tell the truth about what had happened. But even so, he found himself wishing Andi had been allowed inside rather than having to wait outside the courtroom. Her presence would have been a steadying one. He could only hope that Ginny would be done in time for Mr. Weasley to step in. 

He glanced around at the gathered officials; Ministry figures draped in deep plum robes, some with their heads bent in quiet discussion, others watching him with unreadable expressions. Everyone here carried authority, their decisions shaping the very fabric of the wizarding world. At the elevated bench in front of him, Kingsley Shacklebolt sat in the center, flanked by Gawain Robards and several more senior members of the Wizengamot that Harry didn't recognize.

"Thank you for joining us today, Mr. Potter," Kingsley said, his deep voice carrying across the chamber. "We understand that reliving these events may be difficult, but your testimony is critical to establishing the full extent of the crimes committed."

Harry swallowed, his throat dry. He'd prepared for this. He knew what they would ask, but standing here now, with all those expectant faces watching him, made it feel more real than it had in his head. He felt on trial again; the pressure to get it right weighed heavily.

Kingsley continued, his tone steady but firm. "We will begin with the events of June 24, 1995; the night of the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament. For the record, please describe what happened after you and Cedric Diggory touched the Triwizard Cup."

Harry took a deep breath, forcing himself to meet Kingsley's gaze. "The Cup was a Portkey," he said, his voice steady despite the way his hands clenched at his sides. "It transported Cedric and me to a graveyard."

The room was utterly silent, every eye on him as he explained the events of that night. Harry recounted the night in the graveyard with precise, measured words, keeping his emotions in check as best he could. He described how he and Cedric had landed in Little Hangleton, disoriented and unaware of the trap waiting for them. The moment Wormtail's voice had cut through the still night, Harry had known something was terribly wrong.

"When you say 'Wormtail,' you're referring to Peter Pettigrew, correct?" Robards asked, rising to his feet.

Harry nodded.

Robards turned to the Court Scribe. "Let the record once again reflect that Peter 'Wormtail' Pettigrew served as the primary facilitator in the resurrection of Tom Marvolo Riddle—also known as Voldemort."

"And the point of this aside?" a stern-looking witch asked from further back, her voice sharp with impatience.

"To establish again—for the record—the innocence and false imprisonment of Sirius Orion Black," Kingsley replied, his voice clipped but controlled.

Harry let out a steadying breath, silently thanking Kingsley. He hadn't even considered that. All this time, Sirius's name had remained tainted by the crimes Pettigrew had committed, and now—at last—his innocence was being cemented in the official record associated with Voldemort's return. It wouldn't bring him back, but at least the Ministry would be forced to accept that truth.

Harry swallowed hard and forced himself to continue. He spoke of Cedric's murder—how Voldemort had dismissed him with a simple, cruel order before Wormtail cast the Killing Curse. The green light, the dull thud of Cedric's body hitting the ground—it was burned into Harry's memory, as vivid now as it had been that night.

From there, he detailed how he had been restrained, how Wormtail had performed the grotesque ritual using Voldemort's father's bones, his own severed hand, and Harry's blood to restore Voldemort to physical form. His voice remained steady, though he could hear the faint murmur of shock from some of the Wizengamot members as he explained the dark magic involved.

He recounted the Death Eaters' arrival, Voldemort's mocking words as he taunted them for their past failures.

Robards leaned forward, his expression serious. "Mr. Potter, for the record, we need you to identify which Death Eaters were present in the graveyard that night. You have already stated that Peter Pettigrew played a key role in Voldemort's resurrection. Who else was there?"

Harry took a deep breath, steadying himself. "Avery—Caius Avery—was there," he said, his voice clear but firm. "I didn't recognize him at the time, but I saw him again the next year, leading the attack in the Department of Mysteries." He shifted his gaze around the courtroom, feeling the weight of so many eyes on him.

"Tobias Nott was there as well," he continued. "I didn't know much about him then, but he was definitely among the Death Eaters who answered Voldemort's call.

"Walden Macnair," Harry said next. "The same man the Ministry assigned to execute Buckbeak, the Hippogriff that belonged to Hag—Professor Hagrid. I recognized him right away.

"Crabbe and Goyle's fathers were there too," he added. "I didn't know their first names then, but they were huge, just like their sons, and they stood with the others, taking orders from Voldemort without question."

He hesitated for only a moment before finishing, "And Lucius Malfoy. I knew it was him before I even saw his face. I recognized his voice. He was speaking to Voldemort, trying to defend himself for not searching hard enough for him. He was afraid."

There was a murmur among the Wizengamot, but Robards gave a sharp nod, urging Harry to go on.

"Those were the only ones named that night?" one of the Wizengamot members asked.

"Yes," Harry confirmed, then hesitated before adding, "but I recognized others as the war went on. Corban Yaxley, for one. Selwyn. And the Carrows." His hands curled into fists at the thought of them. "They weren't named that night, but they were part of Voldemort's inner circle."

There was another low murmur in the courtroom, and Kingsley raised a hand for silence. "Your testimony is invaluable, Mr. Potter," he said, his tone grave. "We appreciate your willingness to recount these events."

Harry nodded stiffly, his throat tight. It wasn't easy to relive that night, but if it meant justice for those who had suffered at the hands of these people, it was worth it.

"If it pleases the Wizengamot, I would also like to inquire as to the specific method of Voldemort's return," a portly wizard a few rows back said, rising to his feet. There were a few murmurs of agreement from the rest of the assembled body.

Harry felt his heart leap into his throat.

"I believe we should forgo that discussion," Kingsley said. He stood, and his tall frame contrasted greatly against that of the portly wizard. "We are here to hear evidence and ascertain the guilt of those most loyal to Voldemort, not determine the method in which the darkest wizard of our time thwarted his own death." There were more mutterings of agreement, though some seemed opposed. "Who among this chamber believes that society would be better served with access to such information?"

"But if we had this information we would be better equipped to prevent further abuses of these methods," the portly wizard objected.

"Remind me again, Mr. Urquhart, of the department of which you are Head?" Kingsley asked, his voice grave. Urquhart stammered momentarily and Kingsley powered on. "Improper Use of Magic, if I'm not mistaken. Do you believe it falls within your department's purview to prevent the abuse of magic as it pertains to the rise and resurrection of would-be Dark Lords?"

Urquhart stammered out his reply. "I—that is—"

"I'm glad we are in agreement, then," Kingsley all but snapped. "I would remind this chamber that we have convened today in the interests of justice, that we might gather facts to better determine the guilt of Voldemort's Death Eaters."

Kingsley turned to Robards and another, slightly older man seated beside him. "I trust if there are additional questions along those lines that the Auror Office will handle such requests thoroughly and treat the information with the sensitivity it deserves."

Both men nodded.

"Very well," Kingsley said. "Unless there are any further questions, I will call this meeting to—"

The older wizard that sat on the other side of Robards stood, and stared down at Harry. Kingsley watched him warily, but said nothing to stop him. 

"Nathaniel Greystone, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," he introduced himself. The intense look still hadn't left his face. "Mr. Potter…how did you do it?"

Kingsley rose to object. "We have established already that the purpose of this gathering was not—"

"Forgive me, Minister, I do not mean to ask of Mr. Potter's methods," Greystone said gently, and Kingsley lowered back to his seat. "By my estimation, you were fourteen when you dueled Voldemort in that graveyard. Your previous testimony of that night detailed a rather extraordinary escape; aided by what can only be described as considerable intuition, remarkable bravery, and no small amount of skill."

"What are you getting at, Nathaniel," Kingsley asked quietly, though his deep voice echoed through the chamber.

Greystone stopped and turned to the assembled Wizengamot. "I would like to establish, officially and for the record, the character of our witness." He gestured to Harry. "How many of you in this chamber dueled with Voldemort, either in this war or the last?"

Greystone remained standing, though Harry was not sure whether that was only because he was still speaking. Kingsley stood as well; as did—to Harry's pleasant surprise—Robards. It shouldn't have been too surprising, he realized. Both were Aurors and had clearly worked together for some time. Kingsley's trust for Robards should have clued Harry in well enough. 

"Very few of us," Greystone acknowledged, and Harry found himself once again under the man's inscrutable stare. "And yet at fourteen you, Harry Potter, dueled him and survived to do it again. How did you bring yourself to do it?"

"I didn't have a choice," Harry said quietly, watching as Kingsley and Robards lowered themselves back into their seats.

"There is always a choice, Mr. Potter," Greystone said gently.

Harry swallowed hard. "Not one that I could live with," he said. 

"I see," Greystone said, looking pleased with the answer. "Now, Mr. Potter, you are slated to participate in Auror selection this summer, is that correct?"

Harry nodded.

Greystone gave him a thoughtful look, one that Harry felt might be more for show. "Might I ask why? With your inheritance and notoriety you could live a life of comfort and luxury, and—after what you have been through—not a single person could fault you for it."

Harry was quiet for a moment as he considered his answer, trying to consider the way it would be interpreted by the Wizengamot. He hadn't truly ever bothered putting the why of it into words, only that he'd been wanting to join the Aurors since he first had heard the possibility. 

Harry shifted in his chair but met Greystone's gaze without hesitation. "Because it's the right thing to do," he said simply.

Greystone raised a brow, clearly expecting more.

Harry exhaled slowly. "I don't like bullies," he continued, his voice steady. "I never have. And I've spent too much of my life watching people suffer under them. I don't see the point in walking away now, not when there's still work to be done."

He could feel the weight of the room pressing in, every member of the Wizengamot listening intently, but he didn't waver. "Men and women laid down their lives to stop Voldemort. Some of them were Aurors, some weren't. They fought because it was the right thing to do, not because it was their job. I've got no right to do anything less than them."

A murmur spread through the chamber, quiet but unmistakable. Some were clearly moved by his words; others merely observed, as if weighing the measure of the man before them. Greystone himself seemed satisfied, though Harry wasn't sure if that was a good thing.

"So you believe the fight isn't over?" Greystone asked, his tone careful.

Harry's jaw tightened. "Dark wizards didn't disappear when Voldemort died," he said. "And the Ministry isn't perfect, even if we're trying to be better now," he added quickly. "I had people in my corner, willing to fight for me. But I saw what happened to those who didn't. Someone has to stand up for them." His thoughts drifted to Teddy, probably asleep or fussing somewhere with Fleur at Shell Cottage. "No one should grow up the way I did."

Kingsley gave him a nod, subtle but approving. Greystone leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "A noble sentiment," he said, though his expression was unreadable. "And one I'm certain the Auror Office will appreciate."

Kingsley stood, signaling an end to the proceedings. "Thank you for your testimony, Mr. Potter," he said, his voice steady. "Your cooperation in these trials is invaluable to the Ministry's efforts in seeking justice."

Harry gave a short nod, feeling the weight of the chamber lift slightly as the formalities wrapped up. As he stepped down from the witness podium, he exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders as if to shake off the tension. The doors to the courtroom swung open, and as he stepped into the corridor, he found Andi waiting for him. 

Without hesitation, she stepped forward and pulled him into a firm embrace. Harry let himself relax into it, feeling some of the tension in his shoulders ease.

"I couldn't hear a word from outside," she murmured, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. "But I know you did well. I'm proud of you."

Harry swallowed, nodding slightly. He wasn't sure what to say to that—he had never sought praise for anything he had done, but hearing it from Andi, especially after reliving some of his worst memories, meant more than he expected.

"Thanks," he said, voice a little rough.

Andi gave his arm a final squeeze before stepping back, and as she did, Kingsley approached, his presence as steadying as ever.

"You did well there," the Minister said, his deep voice calm and reassuring. "Not an easy thing, recounting all of that. Your attention to detail, even three years later—quite promising for someone looking to become an Auror. Gawain was rather pleased, though I'll deny having told you that."

Harry shrugged, suppressing a grin. "Thank you, Minister."

Kingsley studied him for a moment, then gave him a small, knowing smile. "Since you're already here at the Ministry, I have a suggestion," he said. "Why not take your Apparition test today? No sense putting it off. Not sure how much longer I can keep all your unlicensed Apparating under wraps; not with the way you've been so blatantly flaunting it."

Harry blinked and felt his neck flush. He had planned to do it eventually , but after testifying, his mind had been too occupied to think about much else. Still, Kingsley was right—there was no reason to wait, and he'd been granted much more leeway than most.

"Yeah," he said after a beat. "Might as well."

Kingsley nodded approvingly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Good. I told them to expect you at the test centre. Best not to keep them waiting."

The Weasleys hadn't returned yet, so Harry and Andi took the lift to the sixth level and the Apparition Test Centre office. As the lift doors slid open, Andi glanced around the quieter corridor, then turned to Harry. "I'll head back down to the courtrooms and wait for the Weasleys," she said. "No sense in them wondering where we've disappeared to."

She gave his arm a quick squeeze before stepping back into the lift, leaving him alone as the doors slid shut. With a steadying breath, he turned toward the Apparition Test Centre.

The office was noticeably less busy than he had expected. In fact, aside from a handful of Ministry employees working at their desks, he seemed to be the only one in the room. A few of them glanced up at his arrival, some with mild interest, others quickly looking away as if to avoid drawing attention to themselves.

At the front desk sat Wilkie Twycross, the same instructor who had given the Apparition lessons at Hogwarts. The older wizard looked nearly identical to how Harry remembered him—thin, slightly hunched, and with that same drawn expression that made him seem perpetually unimpressed with his surroundings.

Twycross looked up from a stack of parchment, his gaze settling on Harry. For a moment, he didn't react, then his eyebrows lifted slightly in recognition. "Ah. Mr. Potter."

Harry stepped forward. "I'm here for my Apparition test. Minister Shacklebolt said you were expecting me?"

Twycross let out a slow, deliberate breath, shuffling some papers before standing. "Yes, yes. I was informed of the special scheduling." He gave Harry a critical once-over, as if assessing whether he had grown any more capable since their last encounter. "Your training at Hogwarts was…cut short, if I recall."

Harry resisted the urge to sigh. "Yeah, but I've Apparated plenty since then."

Twycross made a noncommittal noise, then gestured toward a side door. "Come along, then. We'll see if your war-time experience translates to proper technique."

As Harry followed Twycross toward the testing room, a voice called out from across the office.

"Twycross, hold a moment."

Harry turned toward the speaker, an older man of average height with a lean build. His light brown hair was speckled with grey and neatly combed; his piercing blue eyes held a keen intelligence. The man's sharp features and neatly trimmed beard gave him a distinguished appearance.

Twycross paused, a hint of annoyance crossing his face. "Yes, Vance? What might I help you with today?"

The man approached them, his gaze shifting to Harry before returning to Twycross. "I'd like to administer Mr. Potter's test myself."

Twycross raised an eyebrow. "You, Vance? Since when do you conduct Apparition tests?"

Vance's lips curved into a slight smile. "Consider it a special case."

Harry glanced between the two men, curiosity piqued. He had never met Vance before—though the name was familiar—and wondered about his sudden interest in overseeing the test.

"Highly unusual," Twycross said under his breath. 

"Well I thought I might familiarize myself with the experience," Vance said with a grin, seemingly sharing a joke that Harry wasn't privy to.

After a moment's hesitation, Twycross sighed. "Very well. Mr. Potter, you'll be in Mr. Vance's capable hands." He handed Vance his clipboard and walked away, leaving Harry alone with Vance.

Vance nodded genially. "Alaric Vance. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Potter." There was a restraint in his voice, as if he were measuring Harry against the idea of Harry Potter.

Harry offered his hand. "Likewise, sir."

Vance started to do the same only to stop short. It was a split-second hesitation, but it was enough for Harry to notice the neatly pinned sleeve where his right arm should have been. Before Harry could react, Vance smoothly offered his left hand instead, his grip firm and unwavering. But that brief pause lingered in Harry's as Vance led him into the testing room, where there was only a desk against one wall and a trio of circles drawn on the floor. 

The realization hit him suddenly: Vance had lost that arm recently. The slip was from muscle memory, the kind that hadn't yet faded out of habit. 

Vance gestured toward the middle of the testing room. "Shall we proceed?" he asked, his tone professional.

Harry nodded.

Vance was quiet as he read over a sheet of parchment. "Blast it, I've forgotten my quill. Would you mind fetching one from Twycross?" Harry started for the door. "Using Apparition, of course."

Harry nodded, catching on. He hadn't had a lot of time to internalize the layout of the Apparition Test Centre, but he'd Apparated enough over the past year—under far more dire circumstances—that he wasn't too concerned.

"And, when you return, do try that circle," Vance asked, gesturing to the one furthest away. 

Harry nodded again, his mind already focused on the task at hand. He took a moment to center himself before he Apparated. The process was a familiar one; his feet left the ground and his surroundings blurred, the feeling of displacement rushing over him in an instant. He landed smoothly just outside the office where Twycross was still at his desk. The old wizard looked up with mild surprise at Harry's sudden appearance.

It didn't take long before he spotted a simple black quill, perfectly in place on a small stack of parchment. He nodded his thanks to Twycross, and disappeared once again, feeling the familiar squeeze of Apparition as he returned to Vance in the testing room. Vance accepted the quill without a word. 

Harry could feel the tension in his shoulders ease a little as the task was completed. Vance gave him a small nod. "Perfectly done, Mr. Potter," Vance said, his tone light, but still careful. "Very well. I suspect we can forgo some of the usual tests in favor of something a bit more advanced."

Harry swallowed, wondering if Alaric Vance was one of the people Ginny had mentioned would doubt him until proven otherwise. "If you think that's appropriate, Sir."

Vance nodded, drawing his wand. He pointed to the center of the room and conjured a training mannequin similar to the ones Harry had used in the Room of Requirement while training Dumbledore's Army.

"If you would, Mr. Potter, Apparate from where you are now to the circle behind our wooden friend, stun him—nonverbally, of course—then Apparate in front of him to catch him as he falls, and finally Apparte him side-along to the third circle."

Harry swallowed hard—that was a decidedly more complicated series of Apparitions than he'd ever attempted, even ignoring the added stunning request. He took a breath and tried to focus on the task at hand, running his eyes over the room to lock down the positions he'd have to be in for each step.

"The trick—if you don't mind a bit of instruction—is not so much in the Three D's," Vance explained, leaning back against the lip of the desk. "In combat Apparition the most important is 'Determination'—more than anything else." He gave Harry a pointed look. "Surprise. Stun. Catch. Remove."

Harry nodded wordlessly. He exhaled slowly, clearing his mind of everything but the sequence ahead. Surprise. Stun. Catch. Remove. His eyes locked onto the first circle behind the wooden training dummy, fixing the location in his mind before he twisted on the spot.

The familiar compression surrounded him, and in an instant, he landed silently within the designated circle. No sooner had his feet touched the ground than he raised his wand. Stupefy leapt from the tip of his wand in a flash of red, hitting the dummy squarely in the center of its back.

Before it began to tip forward, Harry was already moving again. He visualized the spot directly in front of the falling figure and Apparated, his feet barely making a sound as he reappeared. His hands shot forward, catching the dummy's weight before it could hit the ground. The impact sent a jolt up his arms, but he steadied himself quickly, adjusting his grip.

One last step. With a firm hold on the wooden figure, Harry focused on the third circle across the room. He tightened his stance, ensuring the dummy was secure, then turned sharply. The sudden tug of side-along Apparition pulled at him, the weight of another body—even an inanimate one—making the process slightly more taxing. But an instant later, both he and the dummy landed within the third circle.

Harry straightened, breathing heavily as he stepped back from the now motionless figure. He turned to Vance, waiting for his assessment.

Vance nodded. "Not bad," he said slowly. "Still have all your pieces?"

Harry tried to control his breathing, waiting for any painful sensation to develop. When nothing did he nodded, unable to help the smile that crossed his face. He could already appreciate how useful combat Apparition could be, though he knew he'd need to practice it. 

"And that was your first time incorporating combative spells into your Apparitions," Vance mused thoughtfully. "Kingsley said you had good instincts. Next time try beginning to cast your stunning spell before you Apparate. By doing so, your target will be drawn to your initial position and attempt to defend or counterattack there rather than be drawn to the Apparition itself."

"Why have I never seen or heard about this until now?" Harry asked, his breath still coming in gasps. He'd have to work on that.

"It's usually only covered in Auror and Hit-Wizard training," Vance explained. He marked off a few checks on the clipboard. "Even then, not everyone becomes comfortable with it—it's rather exhausting, wouldn't you say?"

Harry nodded, but felt like a whole new world of possibilities had opened up.

"I can almost hear your brain working it out," Vance said with a grin. "That's promising."

Harry gave him a shrewd look. "You're not really an Apparition test administrator, are you?"

Vance shook his head. "No, I am not. But I was having dinner with Kingsley the other night and he made mention of having you take your Apparition licensing test, so I thought I might see for myself whether you measured up."

Harry frowned. "To what the papers are saying about me?" 

"To what Kingsley is saying about you," Vance corrected. 

"You must know him pretty well," Harry guessed.

Vance nodded with a wry grin. "Were I an arrogant man I might say I taught him everything he knows," Vance said. "But I rather like to think I taught him everything I know." He made a few more checks on the clipboard and handed it to Harry. "Give this to old Twycross and let him know you've passed with flying colors."

Harry accepted the clipboard, his fingers tightening around the edges as Vance ushered him toward the door.

"I look forward to hearing more good things about you, Mr. Potter," Vance added, his tone measured but sincere. "The Auror Office seems like a good fit for you."

As Harry stepped out of the Apparition Test Centre, he exhaled slowly, letting the tension of the past hour drain from his shoulders. The Ministry corridors felt oddly quiet after the intensity of his testimony and the unexpected challenges of his test. He hadn't expected to leave today with both an Apparition license and a renewed sense of direction, but here he was.

A familiar cluster of red hair caught his attention near the lifts. Andi stood with Ginny and her parents, deep in quiet conversation. As he approached, Ginny turned first, her eyes sweeping over him in silent question. He held up the official paperwork, the Ministry seal gleaming at the top.

"Licensed," he said simply.

Ginny grinned, stepping forward to wrap her arms around him. "Knew you would," she whispered teasingly. "That would be embarrassing otherwise."

Harry rolled his eyes, and noticed that she didn't pull away or make room for anyone else to congratulate him. She kept close, her arms wrapped around him, as if she needed it herself; and he realized that recounting her own experiences of the past year must have been harder for her than she was letting on.

"Well done, Harry," Mr. Weasley said warmly, clapping him on the shoulder.

Mrs. Weasley beamed. "Not that we had any doubt."

Andi gave him an approving nod. "Now I can finally let you take Teddy out without worrying that some busybody will report you as an 'unlicensed hooligan' Apparating all over the place with my grandson."

Harry rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress a small grin. He had never once Apparated with Teddy, always opting for the safest, most cautious travel methods. In fact, he even avoided being the one to Floo with him if someone else was available—his own tangled history with the Floo Network made him wary of taking any chances.

"How are you doing, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked carefully. Harry noticed a tension in her that hadn't been there when they first arrived. Even Mr. Weasley had a tightness to him that he wasn't used to seeing.

"I'm…" he wanted to say "fine" but knew that would only lead to some increased probing. He settled on, "I'm doing alright. They were asking things that were from three years ago. Made it easier to talk about."

"As long as it does get easier," Ginny muttered.

Harry found her hand with his and gave it a squeeze. It did get easier, but it took time, and it was hard to notice it getting easier until you were well past it. He'd wanted to be with her when she spoke to the prosecutor on the Carrows' case; not because he didn't know what had happened—they'd shared every detail of what they'd been through the past year—but because he knew how badly he'd wanted people around him after the events of Voldemort's return. 

"I'm sorry I couldn't be there with you," he said softly. 

But that hadn't been his role today. He knew his presence would only distract from what was really going on. It was her story to tell; and maybe if he were just any other regular bloke it would be different; he could go with his girlfriend and silently support her while she detailed the hardest year of her life. But he was Harry Potter, and anything he did—everywhere he went—the focus would be on him. And that wasn't fair to Ginny. Not today.

Ginny nudged him gently. "Well it's not like you were skiving off," Ginny said. "Stood before the Wizengamot and got your Apparition license? That's some day you've had, Potter. And all before lunch."

"Which reminds me—Mr. Weasley, have you ever heard of Alaric Vance?" Harry asked.

"The Auror?" Mr. Weasley asked, surprised by the question. "Certainly. We're not well-acquainted, but I know of him. His cousin Emmaline was in the Order."

"He wasn't though?" Harry asked.

Mr. Weasley shook his head. "Not to my knowledge, no," he said. "You have to understand; until the Ministry fell, there was some reluctance among officials to align entirely with Albus and the Order. Many felt that doing things above-board was the correct way to go about it." He gave Harry a curious look. "Why do you ask?"

Harry frowned. "He was the one that administered my Apparition test?"

Mr. Weasley's eyebrows rose. "Really? Did he say why?"

Harry shook his head. "Just that he wanted to see what I could do for himself," he answered. Then, blushing, added, "said I'd be a good fit for the Auror Office."

"That's rather high praise," Mr. Weasley said. "I believe Alaric Vance was a Field Training Officer—in charge of rookie Aurors after they passed through selection. Far as I knew though, he retired around the same time Moody did."

Harry frowned, wondering what Vance was doing administering tests and teaching him about combat Apparition if he was both not part of that department and retired. He couldn't figure out how he felt about that; Vance had seemed pleased with what he'd done during his test, but he also had played his cards rather close to his vest.

Ginny nudged him again, pulling him out of his head. "Ran into some of your lot on our way down," she said, giving him a teasing grin. 

Harry gave her a look. His lot? His lot was basically anyone with the last name Weasley and she knew it. 

"Neville, Seamus, and Susan," she clarified, rolling her eyes. "They were going to talk with Marchbanks, too. Said they'd be in the Alley if we wanted to meet up and blow off the rest of the day."

Harry nodded. That sounded better than his plans of trying to get more done around Grimmauld. "No Quidditch practice with Demelza today?" he asked.

Ginny shook her head. "Wasn't sure how long things would take," she explained. "You had the whole Wizengamot asking questions."

"You could have headed home without me, you didn't need to wait," Harry said with a frown.

Ginny sighed dramatically, and Harry caught Andi and her parents rolling their eyes. "No one is leaving you here, Harry," Ginny said, a smirk drawing across her lips. "Not even for Quidditch."

"Well let's not get ahead of ourselves," Andi said teasingly.

Mr. Weasley guided the group back toward the Atrium's Floo connections. His pace was unhurried as if savoring these last few moments together before returning to his work for the day. When they reached the rows of fireplaces, he turned to Harry and Ginny, practically glowing with pride.

"You both did well today," he said, his voice thick. He took Ginny's face in his hands. "It was hard enough for me to hear again, Ginny. But I hope you know how proud we all are of you."

Mrs. Weasley reached out, brushing a hand over Ginny's hair before cupping Harry's cheek briefly. "We'll see you both at home later," she said, her eyes shining with unshed tears. 

Andi gave Harry a small, knowing smile. "I'd ask you to not cause too much trouble," she said. "But I remind myself I am speaking with the son of James Potter, the godson of Sirius Black, the favorite student of Remus Lupin, and the man my own Nymphadora Tonks trusted to be godfather to her son…so I really don't see how you could keep that promise even if you wanted to." 

With final goodbyes exchanged, Mrs. Weasley and Andi stepped into the Floo and vanished in a swirl of green flames, heading to their respective homes.

Harry turned to Ginny, who was already reaching for the Floo powder. He met her gaze, and without a word, they both stepped into the fireplace.

Chapter Text

June 26, 1998

Harry stood outside 12 Grimmauld Place with George Weasley. The two of them stared up at the worn, grimy facade of the old townhouse. It had been weeks since Harry first started the renovations, but some of the house's more stubborn remnants of the Black family's legacy refused to go quietly—most notably, the screeching portrait of Walburga Black and the massive Black family tree tapestry in the parlor.

"You sure you're ready for this, Potter?" George asked, rocking back on his heels with a wicked grin. "That portrait alone has survived Dumbledore's ingenuity. That's no small feat."

Harry huffed. "That's why you're here, isn't it? If anyone can figure out how to break a Permanent Sticking Charm, it's you."

George gave an exaggerated sigh, clapping a hand over his heart. "Flattery will get you everywhere. But seriously, mate, if this thing puts up too much of a fight, I say we just set the whole wall on fire and call it a day."

Harry snorted and shook his head. "Let's try not to burn the house down just yet."

With that, he pushed open the door, bracing himself for the usual musty scent of old magic and dust. Grimmauld Place was changing, slowly but surely, but there were still ghosts of its past that refused to let go. If today went well, though, they'd finally silence one of its loudest voices for good.

As they made their way down the corridor, Harry couldn't help but notice how different Grimmauld Place felt compared to when he'd first stepped foot inside years ago. The oppressive weight that had once seemed stitched into the very walls had lessened. The air, though still stale and filled with dust, no longer carried the heavy scent of decay. The soft glow from newly installed sconces lit their path, revealing clean floors and fresh paint where once there had been nothing but gloom. Bit by bit, they were reclaiming the house—not just from its past, but for something new.

Andi had put them in touch with a friend—well, an interior decorator who had become a friend. Or maybe it was the other way around. Harry was still a bit unclear on the details. What he did know was that Faye had been the mastermind behind Andi's house, and Andi trusted her implicitly to keep things simple.

Faye had taken one look at Grimmauld Place and declared it "a historical treasure buried under a century of bad decisions." With her wand tucked behind her ear and a notebook charmed to float beside her, she set to work undoing the gloom and clutter that had plagued the house for generations.

Her first order of business had been light—both magical and natural. Harry, Ginny, and Fleur had already removed the heavy drapes that had suffocated the windows, and Faye replaced them with enchanted sheer curtains, allowing sunlight to spill in while still maintaining privacy. Dim, flickering gas lamps were upgraded to sleek, floating sconces that provided warm, steady illumination without the eerie greenish glow the Black family had favored.

The walls had undergone a complete transformation. The peeling, oppressive wallpaper—some of it literally cursed—was stripped away and replaced with deep, elegant paints that brought a modern richness to the house without losing its old-world charm. The grand staircase, once an ominous dark wood nearly black with age, had been carefully restored, the banisters polished to a soft gleam, and the steps reinforced to remove the ghostly creaks and unsettling groans they used to emit.

Faye was still working her way through the furniture, determining what she could repair, and what needed replacing. Some original pieces could still be salvaged, while other items would need to be replaced entirely—no one had protested when Faye had banished a particularly ghastly armchair that had once been enchanted to bite their ankles.

"Pity you got rid of that troll foot," George said, staring wistfully at the corner where the umbrella stand had been. "It would have been a great conversation starter."

"I don't think I want any part of a conversation that starts with a severed troll foot," Harry said.

George sighed dramatically and patted Harry on the back. "Oh, where did Freddie and I go wrong with you, Harrykins?"

Harry snorted. "If you want it so bad you can have it," he said. "I gave it to Kreacher but I can ask for it back."

George blanched. "And suddenly I don't want anything to do with it anymore." He glanced around at the remade dining room and whistled appreciatively. "Looks nice. Little plain, but maybe once you…" he made a vague gesture, waving his arms around. "You know?"

And yet, not everything had changed.

As they rounded the corner into the front hall, there she was.

Walburga Black's portrait loomed like a specter on the wall, her regal face frozen in a scowl of perpetual disdain. The thick, gilded frame gleamed in the low light, stubbornly resisting every attempt to remove it, just like the wretched tapestry upstairs. The heavy velvet curtains that had once muffled her outbursts were long gone, leaving nothing to shield them from her inevitable wrath.

For now, though, she was silent. Her painted eyes were shut, her expression slack in uneasy slumber.

George let out a low whistle, rocking back on his heels as he examined her. "Blimey, she's even worse up close. I almost feel bad waking her up." He smirked at Harry. "Almost."

"Haven't been by much since we took down the curtains," Harry admitted sheepishly. 

"Can't imagine why," George deadpanned. "The shrieking banshee doesn't tickle your fancy? Could make a pretty useful alarm clock."

"Maybe you can market it at your shop," Harry shot back. "Could make a great new product line; troll feet accessories and screaming pureblood portraits."

"Oi, mate, I'm trying to get the doors back open, not close up for good," George said, running a hand through his hair. "What're you gonna do with her once we get her down?"

"If I can keep her quiet I was gonna give it to Kreacher," Harry said. George gave him an incredulous look. "I'm trying to keep him happy. This has been hard for him."

"Hard" was an understatement. If Harry thought the grumbling while he, Ginny, and Fleur went through the house clearing it of dark objects and curses was bad, that hadn't compared to the fit Kreacher threw once Faye had shown up and started on her work. After a particularly vehement outburst, Harry had allowed Kreacher to retreat to his boiler room nest and put some silencing charms on the door. He was worried this would be what caused the old elf to crack. 

"Let's get it over with," Harry said with a sigh. He rubbed the back of his neck. "She's going to wake up the second we try anything, so we'd better be ready."

George grinned, rolling up his sleeves. "Oh, don't worry. I've been waiting for this moment my whole life."

George ran a hand over his chin, inspecting the portrait of Walburga Black with a critical eye. "Right, so, permanent sticking charms," he began, cracking his knuckles as if preparing for a challenge. "Fred and I, err—we gave them a lot of thought when we opened the shop."

Harry didn't miss the slight hitch in his voice when he mentioned Fred's name. He knew the Weasleys were still struggling with Fred's death. Hell, he was still struggling with it, but they didn't have the benefit of having spoken to the dead, died and come to grips with mortality .

"They're called 'permanent' for a reason," George continued, and Harry forced himself to focus. "But fortunately, they're not actually unbreakable—just really, really stubborn."

Harry crossed his arms. "So how do we get rid of it?"

George grinned. "You've got a few options. The easiest is convincing the person who cast it to undo it themselves, but I'm guessing dear old Walburga isn't about to pop back from the afterlife and do us a favor." He tapped the frame with his wand. "The next best method is brute force—tearing the surface off along with the charm. That works for posters or tapestries, but with something like this…" He gestured to the ancient, heavy frame. "We'd probably take half the wall with it. And I have no idea how that would work with the wards all over this place…or if it would work at all."

Harry winced. "Yeah, let's not," he said, thinking of his unsuspecting Muggle neighbors on the other side of the wall.

"Figured as much," George said. "Which leaves us with the tricky route: disrupting the magic binding it to the wall." He rolled his shoulders. "See, calling it a 'sticking charm' is actually a misnomer. There's no adhesive or anything like that. It works by magically removing the space between an object and a surface so that they're no longer two separate items. So, to undo it, you have to either override that connection or scramble it beyond repair."

"And how do we do that?" Harry asked.

George twirled his wand dramatically. "First, you weaken the enchantment with Finite Incantatem —doesn't break it, but it loosens it up. Introduces some imperfection. Then, you have to confuse the charm by flooding it with conflicting magic—Summoning charms, Banishing charms, even a good old-fashioned Knockback Jinx. You're trying to introduce space between the sticker and the stickee, which weakens the charm. And if that doesn't work, we brute-force it with controlled magical burns."

"Controlled magical burns?" Harry repeated, raising a wary eyebrow.

George waggled his wand. "Fancy way of saying 'we blast it with just enough fire to split the magical bonds without actually setting Grimmauld Place on fire.'" He shot Harry a look. "Probably best if I handle that part."

"Have you ever done that before?" Harry asked warily.

"Harry, mate, would I ever try a combustible, volatile, potentially dangerous process on someone without proper testing first?"

"Yes," Harry said insistently. "I've seen you do that many times."

"Not to you, though."

Harry fixed him with a pointedly unimpressed look.

George sighed. "Yeah, that's fair." He shrugged. "Wanna give it a go anyway?"

Harry didn't get a chance to answer before a sharp, grating shriek split the air. The portrait had awoken.

"Filth! Half-blood filth defiling my home! Traitors, scum—"

Harry reacted on instinct, whipping his wand up and casting a silencing charm. The screaming stopped mid-word, but the effect was anything but soothing. Walburga's lips twisted in fury as the portrait fought against the magic, her face contorting grotesquely. The more she tried to scream, the worse the air around them became—cold and brittle, like a creeping frost settling into their bones. A shrill, piercing pressure built in Harry's ears, not quite sound but something close enough to make him wince.

George swore under his breath. "Well, that's unsettling. We might wanna speed this up."

Harry nodded tightly, adjusting his grip on his wand. "Finite Incantatem."

A faint shimmer rippled across the portrait's surface, but it remained stubbornly in place. Walburga's image buckled, warping slightly as the magic fought against Harry's efforts.

"Good, it's shifting," George said, already moving to the next step. "Revelio!"

The spell flared against the wall, illuminating the web-like pattern of the permanent sticking charm that bound the portrait in place. Threads of magic pulsed erratically, disturbed but not yet broken.

"Flipendo!" Harry followed up, slicing his wand through the air. The edges of the frame trembled, and the chill in the air intensified as Walburga redoubled her efforts, her silent screams distorting the energy around them. The invisible weight pressing on Harry's eardrums grew sharper, his vision almost swimming with the force of it.

Harry huffed in frustration, rolling his shoulders as he eyed the stubborn portrait. "Alright," he said, louder than he wanted to overcome the ringing in his ears. "Let's try everything."

He started systematically, running through spells almost on instinct. Accio was the first and most obvious attempt, but Walburga barely budged, her frame rattling uselessly against the wall, and Harry actually felt himself being drawn towards the portrait. Alohomora came next, even though it wasn't exactly a lock he was trying to break—it was worth a shot. Nothing.

George caught on quickly. "Oh, we're just flinging anything at it now?" He cracked his knuckles. "Brilliant."

Harry nodded, and they both went to work, aiming at the seam between the frame and the wall, where the magic clung stubbornly. Carpe Retractum shot out a golden rope of magic that latched onto the portrait, but when Harry tried to yank it free, the force rebounded, nearly wrenching his shoulder. Circumrota made the frame spin wildly in place for a moment before it snapped back to its original position with a loud thunk.

George snorted. "Well, that did a whole lot of nothing."

But Harry was already moving on. Colovaria turned Walburga's frame a hideous shade of pink, which didn't do anything for removal but was oddly satisfying. Confundo made the entire portrait shimmer as if it were momentarily out of focus, but the sticking charm remained unaffected.

Harry realized, somewhere between Expelliarmus (which sent a brief shock through the portrait but didn't dislodge it) and Langlock (which at least stopped Walburga's silent screaming for a few blissful seconds), that he had started running through spells alphabetically.

George apparently noticed, too. "You're actually going in order, aren't you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Harry didn't look away from his target. "If we're going to throw spells at the wall, might as well do it methodically."

"Where's your sense of whimsy?" George asked with a grin. He prodded his ear with a finger. "What happens when you get to Waddiwasi?"

Harry didn't answer, mostly because he was too busy casting Relashio, which produced a jet of sparks that crackled along the edges of the frame, loosening it just a fraction. Encouraged, he kept going. Rictusempra sent a wave of tingling magic through the portrait, making Walburga's frozen image twitch oddly before snapping back into place. Scourgify did nothing but clean the wall around the frame, and Spongify made the entire surface look briefly rubbery before it settled again.

By the time Harry reached Surgito, which sent a pulse of counteracting magic into the enchantment, he was sweating with effort. The portrait trembled, the sticking charm flickering dangerously.

George clapped him on the shoulder. "Alright, alright, I think we're getting somewhere. But before you go through the entire bloody index of The Standard Book of Spells, how about we give it one last good shove?"

Harry exhaled sharply, gripping his wand tighter. "Yeah. Let's finish this."

George shot Harry a mischievous grin that did absolutely nothing to reassure him. "Time for some good old-fashioned firepower."

"George—"

"Controlled magical burns," George reminded him with a wink. "Although it may help if you follow along with a Severing Charm." He leveled his wand at the portrait. "Incendio!"

A jet of blue-white fire, like a blowtorch, erupted from the tip. It licked at the edges of the frame but didn't catch on the wood behind it. Harry squeezed beside George, flinching at the intense heat, and traced a Severing Charm through the air. The magic binding the portrait flickered violently, its web unraveling as the heat scorched through the enchantment. The pressure in the room built to a near-breaking point before, with a final, dramatic lurch, the portrait peeled away from the wall and crashed to the ground.

The moment it landed, the oppressive weight vanished. The cold dissipated. The buzzing in Harry's ears faded into a ringing silence.

For the first time in what felt like forever, the entrance hall of Grimmauld Place was free of Walburga Black.

George exhaled heavily, giving the fallen portrait a nudge with his boot. "Well, that was satisfying." He glanced at Harry. "Still got both eyebrows?"

Harry ran a hand through his hair and let out a shaky laugh. "Still in one piece. And you didn't set the house on fire. I'm impressed."

"See?" George grinned. "Told you it'd work." He looked down at Walburga's fuming face. "What do we do with her now? Dunno about you, but I think she'd make an excellent dartboard."

"Maybe if Kreacher doesn't want it," Harry said, propping the frame against the bottom of the stairs. He'd bring it down to the basement storage room once they were done with the Black Family Tapestry and the Muggle posters in Sirius's old room.

George merely shrugged as he followed Harry up the stairs. He couldn't exactly blame George; only Ron and Hermione had really been there to see Kreacher's transformation from vindictive, surly cretin into a helpful, cooperative, surly elf .

There was still so much to do , however, and Harry knew he would need Kreacher for it. He could probably manage living alone if he needed to, but there was no telling what kind of schedule he'd have as a brand new trainee Auror, and Grimmauld was a lot of house to keep. Kreacher deserved more than what he'd been given. Not just because he'd become helpful; not just because he'd stopped shouting about blood-traitors; but because he was a living, breathing being. To deny that; to treat him as anything less would be an insult to Kreacher and everything he'd done for them. It would be spitting in the face of everything they'd all fought for. 

"Bet you could make a mint if you slapped a picture of Voldemort on a dartboard," Harry said, hoping to change the subject. George stopped in his tracks and Harry winced. That had been a stupidly-callous comment. "Sorry. Bit too soon to joke like that, I know."

But when he turned he found a gleam in George's eyes and a smile curving his lips. Harry could see the gears turning in his head. "With 'Harry Potter' darts—No!" George gasped, his eyes dancing almost wildly. "Darts that shoot red sparks like an Expelliarmus —No! Darts that turn into noses once they land. Merlin, Harry, if this Auror thing doesn't work out…"

Harry laughed, glad to see the old George shining through a bit, then stuffed down a pang of guilt. 

"I'm sorry I haven't been by the shop much to help out," Harry said, continuing up the stairs. He let a satisfied smile slip through at the lack of creaking. 

"Ah no worries, mate. Been kinda crowded actually," George waved him off as they made it to the first landing outside the drawing room. "Mum, Percy, Lee, Verity—the old Quidditch team comes by on the weekends, too." He shook his head. "Bit mental if you ask me."

"It's almost like they really really love you or something," Harry said offhandedly.

George nodded in agreement. "Like I said, a bit mental." They rounded the stairway and headed into the room. The Black Family Tapestry loomed large on the wall. "To be honest I think you got the arse end of the deal from what Bill told me."

"I did almost get strangled by some wallpaper," Harry admitted.

"And you want to live here?" George asked. "Barmy."

"Well if I need to live close enough to the Ministry, this seems like a good option," Harry said, starting to get defensive.

George raised his hands in surrender. "Hey, I'm just saying. Though I guess I can't really say all that much, seeing how I'm still staying at Mum and Dad's house."

Harry frowned, another pang of guilt racking through him. "No one thinks anything of it," he insisted. "I think they like seeing you there, too."

George nodded in defeat, his fingers idly skimming the surface of the tapestry.

"How's the flat…looking?" Harry dared to ask, knowing that if Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes had been trashed by Death Eaters and Snatchers, the flat above the shop wouldn't have fared any better. 

George knocked on the tapestry. "Kind of a breeze by comparison," he said. He gave Harry a cautious glance before gesturing back at the wall. "It's safe for me to do this, right?"

Harry nodded. "Fleur took care of the Castration Jinx that was on that wall." 

George's eyes widened, but he leaned in closer and pressed his good ear against the tapestry, knocking a few times and listening—though to what, Harry didn't know. 

He fought a grin and forced a look of innocent confusion. He pointed to the opposite wall. "Or was it just that wall she'd cleared?"

George leaped backward with a gasp and his hands crossed defensively over his crotch. Harry snorted loudly and George shot him a nasty glare.

"Merlin, Harry—you can't joke like that with a bloke," he said, smoothing his shirt in an attempt at nonchalance. Harry fought to keep his grin contained. "If you ever figure out a way to monetize that sense of humor you let me know. Until then, leave the jokes and pranks to the professionals."

"I just wish more people had been here to see that," Harry teased.

"Oi, d'you want my help or not?" George shot back. 

Harry chuckled. "You were saying about the flat?"

George quirked an eyebrow curiously. "Eh? Oh, right. You mean before you threatened my bits," he said, shooting Harry a mock glare. "Flat's fine. Got that fixed up pretty quick. Just…" He stepped away from the wall and looked away sadly. "I don't know…don't think I can go back there. Home's hard enough—our same room, you know? But Mum and Dad are there, Charlie's there, Ginny's there," he nodded at Harry. "You're there."

Harry's chest swelled at the inclusion.

"It's easier to feel normal there," George admitted. "But at the flat it was just me and Fred. Not having him there is…" George shook himself, drawing some fire back into his eyes. "I've been letting Lee and his girlfriend stay there since their old flat got rented out while they were on the run."

Harry nodded. That was a Weasley trait, it seemed; to look after everyone who came into your life and treat them like family. The sheer, blind, dumb luck he had stumbling upon them at King's Cross all those years before must have been astronomical. The only Weasleys who hadn't yet expressed the same had been Percy and Charlie. But Harry had watched Percy work with all his might to repair his relationship with his family. And between working with dragons abroad and searching for dragons in England, Charlie never had the opportunity. 

George grinned, though the smile didn't quite fully reach his eyes. "Though I'm severely tempted to kick Lee out and move back knowing how often you're sneaking down to Ginny's room."

Harry groaned. "You know too?"

George let out a bark of a laugh. "Mate, everybody bloody knows. We all just ignore it and pretend not to know for our sanity and moments like this when we can lord it over you."

"Great," Harry muttered. "Why do I even bother with the silencing charms then?" George gave him a horrified, open-mouthed look. "Not like that. On my feet."

George eyed him warily. "Bloody hell, Potter. I don't know how Ron puts up with it." 

Harry chuckled and watched as he continued to knock against the wall while listening carefully. "What are you listening for?"

George shrugged. "Honestly? Haven't the foggiest," he said, stepping back to take in the view of the whole thing. "Was just hoping it'd come to me, you know?" He twirled his wand absently. "You sure we can't just torch this one?"

"Andi asked to save it for Teddy," he said with a shrug. They'd spoken about it at "Tonks family dinner" after he'd started working on Grimmauld Place, and Andi's first instinct was to burn everything and start from scratch. But then he'd received her frantic letter, delivered at midnight by her owl tapping frantically at Ginny's window asking him to save the tapestry. 

She had explained that she wanted Teddy to know where he came from, to know that he wasn't a product of his birth , but his choices . She wanted to give him the chance to see the tangible proof of where he came from, and that someone else could also be defined separately from their family. That he always had the choice to be his own person. 

It was a very Dumbledore idea.

"No fire on this one then," George muttered. 

Removing the Black Family Tapestry was an exhausting ordeal. Unlike Walburga's portrait, the massive expanse of fabric was deeply embedded in the very structure of the house, anchored by centuries of Black family magic. It resisted their efforts at every turn. Harry and George worked methodically, loosening the enchantment before physically prying at the edges, only for the fabric to snap back into place like a living thing. The process was slow, each inch requiring brute force and relentless repetition.

They settled into a rhythm—disrupt, pull, repeat—gritting their teeth as the tapestry fought them with every section they peeled away. The resistance lessened as they progressed, the magic weakening under their continued efforts. After nearly an hour, the final corner gave way with a last, stubborn shudder, and the heavy fabric collapsed to the floor in a tangled heap.

Harry stood over it, breathing hard, hands aching, as he stared at the wall where it had once hung. The faded outline of its presence remained, but the weight of its legacy was finally gone. Grimmauld Place was one step closer to being his.

George dropped next to him, panting. "Harry, mate. Don't take this the wrong way, but let's just burn all the posters in Sirius's room, yeah?" He threw Harry a hopeful look. "There's no way they're worth the effort."

Harry let his head thunk back against the wall, chest still heaving from exertion. He wasn't sure his arms would be of any use for the foreseeable future, and he had half a mind to agree with George's suggestion. After spending an hour wrestling a single, ancient piece of fabric off the wall, the thought of repeating the process for Sirius's school-age posters might have seemed like a nightmare.

But as they stared up at the bikini-clad Muggle girls plastered around Sirius's room, George changed his tune. 

George grinned, pushing himself upright with newfound energy. "I take it back. Those might be worth the effort."

Thankfully George was mostly kidding. They made quick work of the Muggle pin-ups, opting for the fastest and most satisfying method—incineration. With a few well-aimed flames, the scantily clad women curled into embers and vanished, leaving behind only faint scorch marks on the walls.

The motorcycle posters, however, were a different story. They tried to salvage them at first, carefully peeling at the edges and attempting to loosen the charms without damaging the paper. But years of neglect and stubborn sticking spells had made them too fragile. The first one they tried to save ripped clean in half, and after a brief moment of regret, they exchanged a look of silent agreement. One by one, the rest went up in flames, reduced to ash alongside the others.

By the time they were finished, Sirius's walls were bare, save for the ghostly outlines of where the posters had once clung.

George collapsed beside the stripped-down bedframe, and wiped the sweat from his brow. Harry dropped down beside him. 

"We're done, right? We have to be," George panted—a little dramatically, Harry felt.

Harry nodded before calling out, "Kreacher!" With a sharp crack, the house-elf appeared before them.

"Would you grab us some butterbeers from the kitchen, please?"

Kreacher gave a short nod and vanished.

"Bloody brilliant," George said with a grin.

Harry couldn't help but agree. Stocking the icebox had been one of the very first things he'd done once the kitchen was in working order. He still remembered the moment he'd slid the first bottles of butterbeer and Muggle sodas inside, feeling oddly satisfied. Fleur had made an offhand remark about how men always prioritized drinks when stocking an icebox, and he'd laughed—only for the comment to sink in a moment later. Because for the first time in his life, he was putting something in his own home.

Kreacher returned a moment later with the butterbeers.

"What do you think?" Harry asked, noticing the way Kreacher was gazing warily around the room that, for the first time, had been stripped of Sirius's touches. Kreacher gave him a testing look, but Harry nodded encouragingly.

"Master Harry has…removed the trappings of the old Master," Kreacher said, his grin widening. But then a shadow fell across his face. "Master Harry has removed the trappings of all the old Masters."

Harry took a swig of butterbeer. "I thought it would be good to have a fresh start," he said. He felt George's eyes on him, but didn't look away from Kreacher. "Do—did the Blacks not do that when the house was passed down to the next generation."

"Not so…" Kreacher's gaze swept the room, "thoroughly."

"I guess I'm pretty different from your previous Masters," Harry said with a grin.

Kreacher looked thoughtful. "This is true," he said slowly.

"I know all of this," Harry motioned vaguely to the surrounding house, "has been hard for you. I know it's a lot of change." He sighed. "Merlin, I've said that a lot, haven't I?"

Beside him, George snorted into his butterbeer. 

"Thirty-nine times, Master Harry," Kreacher answered with a bow. Then the elf stilled, as if waiting for the punishment to come after realizing Harry had only asked rhetorically.

Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Well, I appreciate it, Kreacher. You're a good elf." He grinned as Kreacher straightened and stood proudly. "I was actually hoping for your opinion."

"Kreacher's opinion?" the elf asked, a look of bewilderment flashing across his face. 

Harry nodded, considering his next words exceedingly carefully. "I know you were…fond of Walburga." He watched Kreacher's eyes widen, and the elf swallowed hard before expertly schooling his features. "But her portrait says some pretty vile things to and about me and the people I love. I can't have her in the house like that."

Kreacher's jaw clenched and the veins in his neck bulged. 

"I'd be willing to let you keep her portrait, if you'd like," Harry said carefully. "We'd have to put it somewhere she won't…scream through the whole house, but…" he trailed off with a shrug. 

"In Kreacher's space?"

"Well that's another matter," Harry said, fighting a grimace. "I want to find you a space here that you can make your own. Preferably one that's a bit bigger and not right in the way of the boiler. If we ever need to fix or replace it I don't want anyone trampling all over your things."

Kreacher eyed him carefully, mouthing words silently, as if they were too big to be contained by his inner monologue. Harry had never noticed it before, but there was a shrewdness in Kreacher's gaze that Dobby and the other house-elves he'd met hadn't shared. He supposed it had something to do with being happily bound to such a decidedly Slytherin family. 

There was a long, quiet moment before Kreacher finally spoke. "Mistress Walburga is gone," he said, his voice cracking as he spoke. "Her portrait is not her. It has…decayed. It dishonors her."

Harry nodded. "I'll take your word for it." And even those words of trust seemed to leave Kreacher bewildered. "I guess we…burn it?"

Kreacher nodded as well. "This is the tradition."

"Bloody hell, Harry, if you were just going to burn it, why did we go through all that trouble?" George groaned. 

Harry nudged his shoulder. "Don't tell me you weren't excited to try to break a Permanent Sticking Charm."

George grinned, raising his bottle of butterbeer. "You know me well, Potter."

Harry clinked bottles with George before turning back to Kreacher. "You sure you're alright with that?" he asked.

"Kreacher is a dedicated servant," the house-elf said with a deep bow. But Harry gave him a long look, and he sighed in defeat. "Kreacher is… alright with it. It is… a fresh start , as the Master says."

"Atta boy," George said, raising his bottle to Kreacher. "Grab yourself a bottle and join us, yeah?"

Kreacher shot Harry a scandalized look, but Harry broke into a grin and nodded. "As long as you'll be alright," he said. "I know Winky had some, err…difficulties with butterbeer."

Kreacher scoffed. "Hogwarts house-elves," he grumbled. "Master can be assured that Kreacher is made of sterner stuff."

George grinned. "Well, we saw you going after those Death Eaters during the battle," he said. "So I don't think that was ever in doubt."

Kreacher had a very pleased look on his face as he popped away and returned a few moments later with a bottle of his own. He looked around awkwardly for a moment, before sitting down on the floor across from Harry and George. He took a slow, deliberate sip from his butterbeer, his eyes never leaving Harry, as if waiting for him to snap. When Harry only sipped on his own Kreacher seemed to relax and take further stock of the newly-cleared room.

"This will be Master Harry's room?" the elf asked.

Harry nodded. "With a little more work, at least." 

Kreacher looked around thoughtfully, taking steady sips from the butterbeer as he did. He lowered the bottle and looked down. "Master…S-s-Sirius," he forced out, though Harry noticed he didn't flinch violently anymore when saying Sirius's name, "was very fond of you."

Harry smiled fondly at the elf and nodded. "I'm fond of him too," he said. "I'm not… sad anymore—that he's gone. I'm just…sad that I won't be able to share any of this with him…for a while."

Kreacher nodded, staring down at the bottle in his hands. "Master Regulus would have been pleased with what has been done," he said softly.

"With the house?" George asked.

Kreacher shook his head. "With the Dark Lord," he said in a growly voice. "He would be pleased knowing what he did mattered."

"It mattered a lot," Harry said, trying to assure him. "I was thinking about Regulus's room." Kreacher's gaze shot to his and Harry could see the tension flood back into his body. "I know you like having your own space. I'd like you to have his old room as yours, if you want it." 

Kreacher's eyes widened and he shook his head furiously. "Too high. Too many windows," he rasped, and tried to hide wiping his tears by scratching his nose. "House-elves like dark spaces. Safe spaces."

"Hence the boiler," George said, and Kreacher nodded. "What about that room behind it? The storage room?"

"Master Orion's office," Kreacher murmured. 

"Really?" George goggled. "This whole huge house and he picked the room in the basement without windows?" Kreacher nodded again and George shook his head. "That's bloody—" he gave Kreacher a soft look. "Sorry, mate, but I just don't get that."

"Master Orion experimented with many ingredients that were sensitive to light and humidity," Kreacher said, his guard lowered in a way Harry had never seen before.

"Would that room work?" Harry asked tentatively. "We're already storing a lot of the old Black family artifacts and heirlooms there." He gave Kreacher a gentle look. "What if you just…picked out what you'd like to keep for yourself and let me know if there's anything that has some…historical value, or is pure evil or something?"

"This place has like a dozen bedrooms," George said encouragingly. "You can always turn one of those into the storage room."

"A whole room," Kreacher muttered in disbelief. "Kreacher's…room."

"Where did you live when Sirius was a kid," George asked, staring absently down the neck of his now-empty bottle.

"Kreacher lived in the attic. He had a box," the old elf said in a low voice.

"I thought you didn't like high-up places," Harry said.

"Kreacher was given orders," he said, as if it explained everything. Harry supposed it did, in its house-elf way.

"Merlin, Kreacher, you deserve better than that," Harry said determinedly. "You can take some time to think about it if you want. There's no rush."

Kreacher nodded, looking thoughtful, but then his expression hardened into a focused mask and he looked up. "Kreacher will take the basement room. And," he raised his bottle of butterbeer high, and Harry caught the slight wobble in his movement. "Kreacher will thank Master Harry for his kindness."

Harry raised his bottle as well. "You're welcome, Kreacher. Thank you for working so hard."

Kreacher nodded sharply, his chin raised proudly. 

George sniffed loudly beside him, and pretended to wipe away a tear. "That was beautiful," he said. "I just wish Hermione was here to see it."

"Oh sod off," Harry grumbled, shoving George over. But he couldn't help the smile that fought its way onto his face. He shot Kreacher a look and was happy to find Kreacher grinning as well. 

He nodded to George gratefully. "Thanks, though."

George just shrugged. "Hey, what are handsome, genius older brothers for?"

Harry's chest swelled at the implication. And he got a sudden, very Weasley-like urge. "So, what do you think? Any of these rooms strike your fancy?"

George looked to Kreacher curiously, then back to Harry in confusion. "You mean me? Why? What?" 

"Well, I think Ron has first crack at rooms if he wants to live here," Harry said with a shrug. "But after that…" He trailed off, grinning. "This way you don't have to kick Lee out and you don't have to stay with your mum and dad if you don't want."

"Really?" George said, staring at him shrewdly. "Sure you're not just saying this so I keep my mouth shut about you and Ginny?"

"Isn't the reason you have kept your mouth shut exactly so that you could lord it over me during moments like this?" Harry asked.

George gave him a thoughtful, upside-down smile, nodding his head back and forth. "Alright, Potter, you've got yourself a deal," he said, grinning. "But if I'm going to be living here I'm going to have some say in the decor."

"Oh?" Harry asked.

"You bet! And this?" George gestured vaguely to the air around them. "Way too drab. I'm thinking bright—bright—colors. Neon fuschia, orange, lime. You know I chose the colors for the Wheezes?" he added proudly.

Harry tried to sound impressed. "Yeah, that's…something," he said. "Who chose the uniforms?"

"Also moi," George said, smoothing his shirt in a painfully-smug way. 

Harry tried to control his face, chewing his lip so that he didn't give anything away. "So you knew what…all those colors would be and look like…together," he said. He felt his lips twitch; he was failing…

"What's wrong with the colors?"

"Nothing!" Harry said, a bit too quickly. "They're…very bright."

"Yeah? Great. Let me know when you want me to come by and start redecorating."

"Don't push your luck, George," Harry warned, though he couldn't help but smirk.

George just laughed and shoved Harry's arm playfully. "Thanks, mate. I think I might take you up on all that."

Harry grinned. "Hey, what are obnoxiously-wealthy younger brothers for?"

June 29, 1998

Ginny adjusted her grip on her broom and shot forward, the warm morning air rushing past her as she pushed for more speed. The makeshift goalposts in the Burrow's backyard pitch stood tall against the early morning sky.

Across from her, Demelza looped effortlessly around an invisible defender before sending a sharp pass her way. Ginny caught it with ease, pivoting midair to feint a shot before pulling up hard, imagining a Keeper lunging to block her. Her muscles ached from the repeated motions, but she welcomed the burn—proof that she was pushing herself, sharpening her reflexes, making sure she'd be ready when it counted.

She'd been running drills every day; usually just with Harry, but Demelza would stop by the Burrow a few times a week to get back into prime shape for the upcoming season. With the Nimbus 2000 underneath her, Ginny finally had a broom that could keep up with her, one that could follow what she needed it to do. 

"Again," Demelza called, already racing back into position.

Ginny grinned, adjusting her stance. The grueling repetition, the sweat, the strain—this was exactly what she wanted. This was fucking Quidditch! 

And she loved it.

They ran the play again, but Ginny was a split-second too early on her slideover and Demelza's pass rushed just past her outstretched fingertips. 

She groaned and Demelza stifled a curse of her own, shooting her an exasperated look. Without missing a beat, Ginny dove, rolling upside-down to snatch the fallen Quaffle in one fluid motion before twisting her broom into a sharp climb. She righted herself just as she reached Demelza, already pushing forward to reset.

"Sorry," Ginny grumbled. "Just twitchy today."

"Merlin, Ginny, are you telling me you've been slowing down?" Demelza goggled. She pulled back her hair and tucked it into a tight bun. "I feel like I've been killing myself trying to keep up today and you've been taking it easy on me?"

"No! That's—" Ginny started to object, "I've just been—you know…calibrating…differ…ent…ly." 

Demelza's grin stopped her. "Ginny, you've always been good, but," she shook her head in disbelief. "What the bloody hell changed?"

Ginny shrugged helplessly. "I run drills every day?" She shook her head. "I don't know what you're going on about. I'm the one who missed her bloody timing on the slideover."

"That's what I'm saying," Demelza said, floating her broom closer. "You're talking about shit like 'timing' and 'calibrating' while everyone else is playing school Quidditch trying not to forget which way is up."

"I like Quidditch," Ginny said insistently, feeling very much put on the spot.

"Fuck that, Ginny," Demelza said, eyeing her shrewdly. "No, you're…" she fixed Ginny with a glare and then her eyes shot wide. "Oh. Shit, you're really doing it?"

Then it was Ginny's turn to goggle. 

"Fuck yeah! Ginny-bloody-Weasley wants to go pro!" Demelze said with a wide smile and a laugh.

Ginny grabbed Demelza's broom. "How do you know? Who told you that?"

"You did!"

"The fuck I did!" Ginny said firmly.

Demelza screwed up her face. "Of course you did. It was in Third year right after we got back from the Yule Ball. You snuck up into Fred and George's dorm and swiped a bottle of firewhiskey."

Ginny frowned. That might have sounded like her. She'd been riding the high that night of going to the Yule Ball as a Third year and not making a fool of herself. She'd dressed up, danced, and had a great time. Michael Corner had noticed her and spent half the evening talking with her. She'd felt more mature, more grown up, than ever before—more in-control.  

"I don't remember getting that pissed," she muttered.

"Well I remember you saying you thought playing pro-Quidditch would be the coolest thing in the world," Demelza said with a shrug. 

"That's not what that means!" Ginny insisted.

"But you just said you did!"

Ginny snapped her teeth shut and huffed. "Look, you can't say anything," she said. "I've only told Harry and Andi." Demelza gave her a look. "Teddy's grandmum." 

Demelza nodded quickly. She had met Teddy a few times after Andi had started going back to work. But then her look turned scandalous. "You told your boyfriend's godson's grandmum that you want to play Quidditch professionally but not your best friend?" she asked with mock outrage.

"The conversation got away from me," Ginny said with a sigh. "Andi was telling me that she approved of me—"

"The fuck do you mean 'approved of you'?" Demelza demanded, mock outrage replaced with very real outrage. "You're Ginny-bloody-Weasley."

"I asked," Ginny insisted, rolling her eyes. "I was feeling insecure, and worried that she wouldn't approve of me dating Harry. She knew Harry's parents, Harry's godfather was her cousin, her son-in-law was Harry's dad and godfather's best mate. Harry was over the bloody moon to have that connection, and I was worried I wasn't…anyway, it doesn't matter."

"Did she at least approve? Of you, of Quidditch?"

Ginny waved her off. "Yeah, of course." She grinned. "I'm Ginny-bloody-Weasley."

Demelza grinned widely and shimmied back and forth chanting, "We're gonna win the Quidditch Cup!" over and over. 

But then she gasped. "You haven't told your dad!" Another gasp. "Or your mum! What's she gonna say?" An even louder, more dramatic gasp. "What's McGonagall gonna say?"

"She's gonna say she's looking forward to Gryffindor winning the cup again this year," Ginny shot back. 

Demelza shook her head. "She's Headmistress now. She's not allowed to favor one house over another."

Ginny just scoffed. "Oh sure. Let's just pretend Professor Dumbledore didn't give Neville ten points for trying to stop Harry from breaking school rules that he'd just awarded Harry sixty points for breaking." 

Demelza laughed. "Something tells me Professor McGonagall will lack a little of his whimsy."

Ginny grinned. "I dunno," she said scandalously. "I think she might have suggested it." 

She launched into the story, explaining how McGonagall had called her into her office during her fifth year to discuss career options. They had gone through the usual paths—Ministry roles, Healer training, advanced business studies, commercial potioneering—before McGonagall shifted to the more "nontraditional" routes. She mentioned several former students who had excelled outside the standard career tracks, listing off a volley of jobs and names that Ginny had barely been able to follow outside the quick mention of her brothers, but when it came to Quidditch, McGonagall spent three whole sentences on the subject.

One was a reference to Oliver Wood—who was, as McGonagall had put it with a knowing look, "quite well acquainted with your brothers and Mr. Potter"—and his professional Quidditch career. The second was a mention of how team scouts often attended Hogwarts Quidditch matches to see if there was any promising talent. The third was how professional players tend to transition into other related roles after their prime playing years.

"It was almost like she knew that's what I wanted," Ginny said, warmth in her voice at the memory of her former Head of House. Snape had been a specter as Headmaster. Dumbledore, an enigma. But McGonagall had always been present. There was an unshakable sense that nothing got past her—and when it seemed like something had, it was only because she had allowed it.

"I don't even remember the other stuff she was talking about," Ginny said. "But she said 'Quidditch' about a dozen times."

Ginny spun the Quaffle on one finger for a few seconds before tossing it to Demelza, who caught it easily, muttering "showoff" under her breath.

"Run it one more time, then get ready to meet the girls?" Ginny suggested.

After a final drill, they headed inside to shed their sweaty Quidditch gear and change into swimsuits. A few quick Floo calls later, the sitting room began filling with people. Luna arrived first, stepping lazily through the fireplace and pulling Ginny into a fierce hug. Vivienne and Jocelyn came next, followed by Anya Wells and Cora Langley.

"So this is the famous Burrow we've heard so much about," Cora said, spinning slowly to take in the sitting room, her honey-brown curls bouncing with the movement. "I've always wanted to come here."

"Kind of mental that it took us six years to secure an invite," Anya teased, stepping forward and enveloping Ginny in a firm hug. Before Ginny could react, Anya effortlessly lifted her off the ground and gave her a playful shake.

"Alright, alright, put me down, you menace," Ginny huffed, fighting her way free, though she couldn't quite suppress her grin. If Anya could stomach being on a broom for more than twenty minutes, she'd make an incredible Beater. Her strength and precision were undeniable. Years of farm work had left her with a grip like iron and an instinct for timing that would put most Quidditch players to shame. But the sky wasn't her element. The one time Ginny had convinced her to try flying drills, Anya had turned an alarming shade of green and nearly taken out a flock of pigeons in her desperate attempt to land.

Cora settled onto the nearest couch, tucking one leg under her as she glanced around the room with interest. "It's exactly how I imagined it," she said, taking in the mismatched furniture, the well-worn books stacked haphazardly, and the faint scent of something freshly baked lingering in the air. "Feels lived in. Like it holds stories."

Ginny smirked. "That's a poetic way of saying it's a bit of a mess."

Cora shrugged. "All the best places are."

Anya leaned against the arm of a chair, arms crossed, then tilted her head toward the window. "So, where are these infamous garden gnomes? I've heard horror stories from your brothers."

Ginny gestured vaguely toward the garden. "They're out there, probably causing trouble. You'll see them soon enough."

Cora perked up. "I'd love to get a closer look. I've only ever seen pictures in textbooks."

"They're just pests, really," Ginny said with a shrug.

"Maybe," Cora admitted, "but I like seeing things for myself. You can learn a lot from how creatures behave in their own environment."

Ginny smirked. "You'll learn that they bite. Imagine having to de-gnome the garden without magic."

Cora grimaced. "Noted."

Luna, who had been absently twisting a strand of Vivienne's hair between her fingers, chimed in thoughtfully, "They do have their own sort of logic, though. My dad once said they operate on a system of territory and barter, even if it mostly involves stealing from each other."

Cora made a thoughtful noise, tucking that bit of information away. "That's fascinating. I'll have to look into it more."

Anya shook her head, amused. "Only you would be interested in gnome politics."

Ginny rolled her eyes fondly before clapping her hands together. "Alright, enough about gnomes. Fleur is expecting us soon, and I, for one, am not missing out on a full day at the beach because we got distracted."

That was enough to get them moving. They gathered their bags, Luna humming as she looped her arm through Jocelyn's, and Anya and Cora discussing whether Bill's house would be as spectacular as the Burrow. The energy shifted as they stepped toward the fireplace, anticipation crackling between them like magic itself.

With a handful of Floo powder and a swirl of green flames, they vanished one by one, only to appear, stumbling on top of one another in the sitting room of Shell Cottage.

Ginny winced and grumbled as she pulled herself from the bottom of the pileup, but even that had failed to dampen Cora and Anya's enthusiasm. They gasped and marveled at the house, lit up by the huge kitchen windows and the ocean past them.

"Welcome to Shell Cottage," Bill said, rounding his way in from the kitchen. He introduced himself and Fleur to Ginny's friends, although that was hardly necessary.

"Oh, we know who you are," Anya said with a smile. "Ginny talks all about her cool, curse-breaking older brother and his awesome Triwizard Champion wife."

"Does she?" Bill said, throwing a grin her way. "Am I really the cool older brother?"

"Not if you have to ask," Demelza said.

"Hey, Demelza," Bill said. "How's your mum?"

"She's great," Demelza said, with a pointed glare. "Says you don't return her owls."

Fleur shot Bill a curious look. He waved off her concerns with, "this is Theresa's daughter" and she nodded knowingly before her stare began to mirror Demelza's.

"Tell your muzzer zat I appreciate 'er constant owling," Fleur said, shooting Bill a pointed look. "Per'aps one day, she will get through my 'usband's thick skull."

But Bill just grinned. "How can you say 'no' to a good tomb?"

Fleur rolled her eyes, casting an exasperated look at Ginny and her friends. "Do you see what I must put up wiz?" Her gaze softened as she turned to Bill with a sly smile. "Eet is most unfortunate that I find eet so endearing."

"We call that the Weasley Charm," Bill teased with a rakish grin.

"Speaking of charming Weasleys, did you hear? Ron and Hermione have a return day," Ginny said excitedly, pulling their letter from her bag. 

Bill gave it a once over, eyes widening as he read. "Wow, they're really still in the Spell Damage Unit." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Says if everything goes well—"

"They'll be able to take the first portkey home on July fifth," Ginny interrupted. 

Bill pulled Ginny aside and nodded once to Fleur, who began taking over the conversation with her friends and leading them on a bit of a tour. Ginny gave him a frustrated look but the worry on his face drained the fight out of her.

"No, it says he will be able to take the first portkey back," Bill corrected. He pointed to a line on the letter where Ron had written: 'I'll be able…' He gave her a worried look. "Nothing about Hermione or her parents."

Ginny waved off his concerns. "It's Ron, he's not going to quibble over grammar," she said. "You're lucky he used punctuation at all."

Bill shook his head. "Ron's pretty consistent with the way he words things."

"Why are you studying Ron's grammar so closely," Ginny said, entirely bewildered.

"Syntax and grammar are important for curse-breaking," Bill said with an equally-bewildered look on his face. "Especially with runes: the meanings change depending on where in the script the—" He scoffed. "Oh you don't care. Anyway, we should try and get a message back to them and see if he needs any help with that."

"You think something went wrong?" Ginny asked. She forced herself to unclench her fists; she'd seen that look in his eyes before as he grabbed her to stop her from stumbling upon Fred's body unprepared.

Bill let out a deep sigh, forcing his shoulders to relax. "It's probably nothing," he murmured, though he didn't sound entirely convinced. "Ron wouldn't just take off if Hermione still needed him. Maybe her parents have had their fill of magic for now and want to travel the Muggle way. I could see that. And Hermione's going with them because she hasn't seen her parents in over a year."

Ginny nodded purposefully, as if willing herself to believe it.

Bill hesitated before adding, "And Ron's coming back by portkey because… well," he grimaced, glancing around, "maybe there's less of a Mum, Dad, and Harry feel and more of a Mum, Dad, and Fleur feel…from two years ago."

Ginny's nod slowed as the implication sank in. It did make sense. She had never introduced Michael or Dean to her parents, not even in passing at the Hogwarts Express. If she was honest with herself, she'd never intended to. Her parents' relationships with Harry and Hermione were different—she was fairly certain her mum and dad had unofficially adopted them long before she and Harry had gotten together.

"I mean—I love Fleur's mum and dad, don't get me wrong," Bill said loudly, his voice carrying through the house, "but if my options were traveling alone by portkey or being crammed next to them on an aeroplane for five hours…"

"Five hours?" Ginny repeated, eyes widening.

"At least, right?" Bill shrugged. "Australia's far. Even with international portkeys, you need a layover to avoid getting keysick. I think they said it's a five hour trip with stops. So aeroplanes must take at least that long, yeah?"

"'Five hours' what now?" Cora asked as she and the others rejoined them from their quick tour. After a brief—if reluctant—explanation, Cora paled.

"Try twenty-four hours, minimum."

Ginny and Bill goggled at each other before Ginny let out a low whistle. "Well, shit," she muttered. "I'd leave our Mum and Dad behind if that were the other option."

Bill nodded, a little more at ease. He and Fleur led the girls outside towards the beachfront where a few wand waves set up a series of umbrellas and towels charmed not to flap around in the breeze. He made sure they were all settled before telling them that he would be returning to work.

"Yeah, what were you doing home?" Ginny asked.

Bill sighed and carded a hand through his long hair. "Charlie needed a bit of rescuing," he admitted. "He went out with that dragon bloke—shaman or what have you—searching for the Ironbelly. Search turned up nothing, except a pub. Where they spent the entire night drinking." He shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Charlie got so pissed he couldn't Apparate. So I picked him up and let him stay here. He's still upstairs." 

"Did you meet the dragon guy?" Anya asked excitedly. 

Bill shook his head. "Bartender said he left after Charlie tapped out. Told him he was going to go back out and look for the dragon while Charlie slept it off."

"Barmy dragon blokes," Ginny said with a look somewhere between a grimace and a grin.

"That's our brother's aspiration," Bill shook his head. He checked his watch, eyes widening, and walked off with purpose. "Don't forget to use your sun potions or you'll turn into a lobster!" he said, stepping through Shell Cottages wards and Disapparating.

"So," said Fleur, wand in hand. "Do you want to swim before or after your Defense tutoring?"

Ginny glanced at her friends and smirked. "Swim first. Harry won't be here for a bit anyway, and I'd rather be in the water than throwing curses in this heat."

There were murmurs of agreement as they made their way down the sandy path toward the shoreline. The midday sun reflected off the waves, turning the water a dazzling blue, and a salty breeze rolled in from the sea. Ginny kicked off her sandals as soon as they reached the sand, hissing slightly when the warmth stung her feet before she sprinted toward the water.

Cora was the first to follow, laughing as she twirled out of her cover-up and tossed it onto the shore. "I can't believe you lot get to come here whenever you want," she called as she waded in. "If I lived here, I'd never leave."

"You say that now," Ginny teased, diving forward into the cool waves. She surfaced with a satisfied sigh, shaking the water from her hair as she turned back to the others. "But wait until you get Fleur or Bill grilling you on your Defense knowledge—then you'll see how fun it is."

"Many cultures believe that certain skills and abilities are transferable through physical contact," Luna said offhandedly. She'd stooped over to poke at something unseen under the wet sand. "I imagine you must be rather skilled at Defense now."

Ginny felt herself flushing the telltale Weasley red, but was saved from further teasing when Fleur called out:

"One hour, zen we train." Fleur settled onto a nearby chair, angling herself to catch the sunlight. "I will time you."

As the group splashed and swam in the cool water, Ginny happened to glance toward Shell Cottage and spotted a familiar figure emerging from the house—Charlie, looking like he'd just been through a special kind of hell. His hair was sticking up at odd angles, his face was pale and drawn, and even from a distance, she could see him squinting against the bright sunlight like it personally offended him.

He stumbled down the path toward the beach, rubbing his temples and muttering under his breath. Ginny smirked.

"I'll be back," she told the others before wading out of the water and making her way up the sand to intercept him.

"Rough night?" she asked, crossing her arms as she stopped in front of him.

Charlie groaned. "Ginny, if you have any mercy in that heart of yours, you'll keep your voice down."

Ginny snorted. "That bad, huh?"

Charlie dragged a hand down his face and sighed. "I spent all last night drinking with Sarkhan."

Ginny raised an eyebrow.

"The dragon expert we brought in to help track down the Ironbelly," he explained. "Bloke must be part dragon himself, because there's no way I drank more than him, and yet here I am—feeling like I got trampled by a herd of them—while he's still out there looking for the damn thing."

Ginny smirked. "Fleur's about to put us through some Defense training in a bit. Want to join?"

Charlie let out a pathetic laugh and shook his head. "Not a chance. I need about three more hours of sleep, a full meal, and possibly a resurrection spell before I'm of any use to anyone."

Ginny studied him more closely. He really did look awful—up close, he had an almost greenish tinge to his face. "I bet Fleur would brew you a hangover potion if you ask her."

Charlie groaned, rubbing his eyes. "She already did," he muttered, his voice thick with despair. "I already drank them."

Ginny frowned. "Them?"

Charlie held up three fingers.

Ginny gawked at him. "Merlin. And you're still like…this?" She gestured vaguely to his miserable state.

Charlie made a noise that could only be described as a tearless sob.

Ginny patted his arm sympathetically. "Well, enjoy your suffering. I'm going back to the water."

As she turned to leave, Charlie groaned again. "If Mum asks, tell her I'm helping with something important."

Ginny grinned over her shoulder. "Sure thing, big brother."

Chapter Text

July 1, 1998

The Burrow was several orders of magnitude more chaotic on the morning of George's reopening than it had been in a long while. Breakfast had been a hearty, if hurried, affair—Mum had been more concerned with planning out the day than making sure everyone was at the breakfast table together at the same time.

She had been up before dawn, bustling about the kitchen, barking reminders at anyone within earshot. By the time Ginny stumbled downstairs, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, her mother was already halfway through a discussion with Dad about the logistics of the day. Between frying eggs and buttering toast, she was also working out the timing of her trip to Andi's to pick up Teddy before taking him into Diagon Alley.

Dad, in turn, was only half-listening as he buttoned up his robes, but promised he would be stopping by the shop on his lunch break to show support and bring something exciting back to his department to brighten up their day.

Charlie was still away, tracking down the Gringotts dragon. Ginny suspected he wouldn't be back for another few days—not if his state the last time she'd seen him was any indication. Percy had stayed at his flat the night before, but had Floo-called them during breakfast and promised to meet George at the shop before the doors opened. 

That had been George's cue. As soon as he was done with Percy he called Lee and Floo'd to the flat above the shop to get the everything sorted and prepare his employees and volunteers. He hadn't spoken much over breakfast—his usual sarcastic energy dulled beneath his nerves. Ginny had caught his fingers drumming anxiously against the edge of the table, though, betraying the nervousness he wouldn't dare voice.

That left Harry and Ginny to help clear up after breakfast and help Mum get ready. They had volunteered to help at the shop however George needed them—Harry had even swallowed down the aversion to his new celebrity status and agreed to stand in very visible places to get more people through the door. In his own understated way, Harry had been working hard to be there for George in ways she couldn't even begin to understand. He was, apparently, an expert on loss.

And she—well, she was considering asking George if he had any part-time work for her before the next Hogwarts term started. It wasn't as if she had anything else planned for the summer, and maybe George could use the extra hands. She certainly wouldn't pass up an opportunity to earn a little bit more money to put towards professional Quidditch tryouts and Hogsmeade weekends.

The past few weeks had been a whirlwind of activity. Ginny had been training relentlessly for Quidditch, pushing herself harder than ever before. She felt faster, sharper, more confident on a broom than she ever had in her life. Every dive and feint came easier, her movements instinctive, her grip sure. 

Meanwhile, Harry had been steadily transforming Grimmauld Place into something resembling a proper home. Ginny had teased him endlessly about hiring a "decorator"—which sounded entirely too posh—but even she had to admit that Faye had done wonders. The once-dark and foreboding house was now fully furnished with freshly charmed walls, salvaged or replaced furniture, and even beginning to get stocked with new linens, towels, and cookware. Kreacher, nearly unrecognizable from the sullen creature he had once been, was practically delightful these days, bustling about happily in a house finally worth keeping. Between his dwindling time at Hogwarts and increasing duties at Grimmauld Place, the old elf had seemingly found a new purpose.

And in the quieter moments, when they weren't occupied with Quidditch or renovations, Harry and Ginny stole time for themselves. Late afternoons often found them in the orchard, hidden between the trees, wrapped up in one another until they were inevitably interrupted—usually by an exaggerated throat-clearing from George or a dry remark from Charlie. At night, Harry would still sneak down to her room, a habit so obvious that it had long since stopped being a secret. Friday nights were reserved for dinner at Andi's, where they spent hours with Teddy, watching him grow, laugh, and shift his features with alarming dexterity.

Mondays and Wednesdays were devoted to Defense training with her friends, under Fleur's strict and occasionally ruthless instruction. They usually met at Shell Cottage, spending a few hours drilling spells and running through the sixth year curriculum that Cora and Anya had missed and that the rest of them had been denied, before cooling off with a swim. On cooler, cloudier days, Fleur came to the Burrow instead, turning their Quidditch pitch into a temporary training ground. 

Harry would occasionally join, though rather than practicing alongside them, he usually ended up helping Fleur's instruction…or dueling with Fleur instead. Ginny and the girls had watched in rapt fascination as the two of them clashed, faster and more relentless than she could hope to be. Fleur was formidable, her precision and spellwork flawless—there was something very distinct about the way she moved, and Ginny wasn't sure whether to attribute it to her Veela heritage, French poise, or a difference in technique from Beauxbatons.

But Harry was something else entirely. His instincts, his experience, the sheer unpredictability of him made him a ferocious duelist. No matter how many times they faced off, Fleur had yet to get the better of him. It was the only thing that gave Ginny any real sense of peace about his decision to become an Auror.

Ginny was just stacking the last of the breakfast plates by the sink when a sharp tapping at the window made her jump. She turned to see a tawny owl perched on the sill, a cream-colored envelope clutched in its beak.

Mum, who had just finished packing up a satchel for Teddy's day in Diagon Alley, hurried over to let the bird in. It hooted softly as it extended its leg, and she untied the letter. The owl ruffled its feathers impatiently, clearly expecting a reply.

"Oh," Mum murmured, seeming to recognize the handwriting immediately. "It's from Sophie."

Ginny straightened and perked up curiously. Aunt Sophie—Mum's younger sister—had lived in America for as long as Ginny could remember. She'd moved there after Uncle Gideon and Fabian's deaths, and though there had been the occasional letter or Floo-call over the years, that side of the family had always felt more like distant figures in Mum's stories rather than real people.

Mum broke the wax seal and unfolded the parchment, her lips moving slightly as she read. Her expression flickered through surprise, then something more complicated—somewhere between fondness and hesitation.

"Well," she said after a long moment, still staring at the letter. "It seems Sophie and her family have decided to move back to England. Her husband…your uncle Ezra, has been assigned as a liaison between MACUSA and the British Ministry to oversee post-war relations. Sophie's taken a job as an international correspondent for the Daily Prophet. They're expecting to arrive before the start of August."

Ginny looked over in surprise. "Really?"

Mum nodded, tapping the letter absently against her palm. "She and Ezra decided it was time. She says they want to reconnect with the family properly now that…" She trailed off, and Ginny noticed the half-flicker of movement as Mum fought the urge to glance at the wall where the family clock once rested. 

No one spoke for a moment. Ginny watched as Mum inhaled slowly, then straightened her shoulders.

"Her two oldest will be starting their sixth years this term. They're hoping to meet with us before all that," she continued briskly, but cautiously. "Want us all to catch up."

Ginny exchanged a glance with her father. The Prewett side of the family had always been a bit of a mystery to her—Sophie especially. Mum had spoken of her younger sister with affection but also an undercurrent of something like regret. And now, after all this time, Sophie was returning.

Mum's fingers lingered on the edge of the parchment, as if she weren't quite sure what to do with it. Then, finally, she sighed and looked toward the owl, who was still waiting expectantly.

"Well," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else, "I suppose I'd better write back." She reached for a quill. "Would you and Harry mind going on ahead while I set this? I'll meet you at the shop with Teddy."

The line outside Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes stretched impossibly far, witches and wizards packed shoulder to shoulder, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the shop's newly polished storefront.

Inside, it was an absolute madhouse. Shelves had been restocked, displays meticulously arranged, and yet there was still a frantic energy as last-minute preparations took place. Ginny ducked as a stack of Puking Pastilles nearly toppled over, shooting an unimpressed look at Verity, one of the shop's employees, who just shrugged sheepishly and levitated them back into place.

Near the counter, Harry was helping George charm a series of fireworks to hover in perfect formation for the grand reopening display. "You're sure these won't set off indoors this time?" Harry asked warily, watching as a spinning Catherine wheel jittered midair.

"Of course not," George said, looking deeply offended before grinning. "Well. Probably not. But that's part of the fun, isn't it?"

Ginny rolled her eyes, stepping up beside them. "You do realize that if you burn down the store you'll have to close it again?" she asked with a smirk.

George snorted. "Our fireworks are perfectly safe for use inside and out," he said with a grin. "My lawyer said so."

Ginny's smirk softened. She knew today wasn't just about business for George—it was a statement, a way of moving forward. It had taken a month for George to even consider reopening, and even now, she could see the way his shoulders tensed whenever he thought no one was looking.

The shop buzzed with energy as final preparations fell into place. The scent of fresh parchment, polished wood, and something vaguely like sulfur filled the air. Percy, who had actually taken a day off from work—an event nearly as shocking and historic as the Battle of Hogwarts itself—was double-checking the inventory lists with his usual meticulousness, quill scratching furiously against parchment. Dean Thomas, having been hired on to make some extra money, was already charming a stack of Skiving Snackboxes to hover neatly behind the counter, occasionally having to dodge a rogue Puking Pastille that didn't want to stay in line.

Ginny glanced over to see her mum standing near the counter, Teddy strapped to her chest in a carrying contraption. He was gurgling happily at the commotion with wide eyes, his hair shifting from bright red to turquoise as he waved his arms towards a floating Fanged Frisbee just out of his reach. Her mum caught it midair with the reflexes of a seasoned mother and shot a warning look toward George, who had the good sense to feign innocence.

Lee Jordan weaved through the bustling shop, clipboard in hand, dodging levitating product displays and harried employees. His voice rang out over the commotion as he checked off last-minute details, ensuring that the reopening would be as spectacular as planned. Living in the flat above the shop with his girlfriend had made him an unofficial manager of sorts, and he had thrown himself into the role with gusto. Between coordinating deliveries, fine-tuning advertising campaigns for his wireless program, and charming promotional banners to flash their latest deals, Lee had kept everything running smoothly—even when George got lost in his thoughts. Now, as the final preparations fell into place, he leaned against the counter with a satisfied grin.

But it was George's old Quidditch teammates who made the biggest difference. Katie, Alicia, and Angelina moved through the shop with the practiced ease of a well-oiled team, taking charge without needing to be asked. Alicia had taken up a spot near the front, sorting through a new line of fireworks that George had been hesitant to unveil. Katie was helping one of the newer employees, laughing as she demonstrated how to safely handle an armful of Decoy Detonators.

Ginny didn't miss the way George's shoulders seemed a little looser with his old teammates around. Katie and Alicia slipped into their roles effortlessly, helping with displays, sorting through new stock, and keeping the younger employees in check. But it was Angelina who had the biggest effect on him.

She moved through the shop, taking charge in a way that felt natural. Customers had yet to even step inside, but she was already managing the flow of things, making sure the right products were in the right places and the staff knew what they were doing. But more than that, she had a way of pulling George out of himself.

At one point, Ginny saw Angelina pass him a box of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, their hands brushing for just a second too long. George startled slightly, clearing his throat as he took the box, then immediately dropped it, scattering fine black dust over the counter.

"Smooth," Angelina had teased, arching a brow.

George huffed, grabbing his wand to clean up the mess. "It's part of the grand opening performance," he said, voice light but forced.

Angelina smirked but didn't push.

A little later, as she bent down to pick up a stray Extendable Ear, George turned at the exact wrong moment, stepping into her space. Their shoulders bumped, and she rocked back slightly, her hand catching his arm to steady herself. They both froze.

Ginny saw George swallow hard before he stepped away, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Didn't mean to, uh—" he started, but Angelina cut him off with a casual, "No worries," before moving past him, a little too quickly.

For a moment, George looked like he wanted to say something else, but instead, he exhaled sharply and turned back to his work.

Ginny pretended not to notice, giving them their space. It wasn't the same easy back-and-forth they used to have, but Angelina was here. And George—though still carrying the weight of everything—was smiling more than he had in weeks. Even if it was complicated, even if there were still things left unsaid, it was something.

Harry cleared his throat, lifting a hand to get everyone's attention. The chatter died down, and all eyes turned to him. He looked uncharacteristically hesitant for a moment, glancing at George before nodding toward Dean.

Dean stepped forward, carefully unfolding the parchment to reveal a painted figure—mischievous eyes, a lopsided grin, and unmistakable red hair. Before anyone could react, he raised his wand and murmured an incantation.

The painting shimmered as if catching a breath, then a pulse of golden light spread from its edges. Slowly at first, then all at once, the image lifted from the parchment, stretching and expanding midair. It unfurled like a banner caught in the wind, its colors deepening, its lines sharpening. Fred's face grew larger, his grin widening as the magic pulled him toward the far wall. The swirling glow intensified as the image stretched impossibly tall—larger than life—until it finally settled into place, spanning nearly the entire back wall of the shop.

A final pulse of magic rippled outward, locking the painting in place. The golden shimmer faded, leaving behind a Fred who towered over them, arms crossed, eyes bright with mischief. Even in stillness, the portrait seemed ready to burst into laughter.

The room was silent.

George stood frozen, staring up at the painting, his mouth slightly open. His hands twitched at his sides, as if he wanted to reach out but didn't quite dare. The painted Fred smirked down at them, arms crossed, one brow arched in knowing amusement.

It was Dean who finally spoke, clearing his throat. "Harry's idea," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just—well, I did my best to get him right. His expressions, his way of holding himself…I used some old photos as references, but I figured—" He hesitated, glancing at George. "I learned the spell for animating magical portraits but…I figured you might want to do the spell yourself. So you can add to it, make it more like him. I'd bet you knew him better than anyone else did."

George swallowed, his expression unreadable.

Dean shifted his weight. "It's just an imprint," he added quickly, almost apologetically. "Not the same as—well, not the same. But I thought…"

His voice trailed off.

For a long moment, no one moved. Then, slowly, George exhaled, his lips quirking—not quite a smile, not yet. His eyes never left the portrait. "That's…yeah," he said quietly. "That's something. I think you just earned yourself a raise, Mr. Thomas."

Ginny felt her throat tighten, and her heart swelled with fondness for—Merlin help her—her boyfriend and ex-boyfriend stepping up to help her brother.

Beside her, Harry reached over and gave George's shoulder a firm squeeze.

George inhaled sharply, nodded once, then shook himself, his usual bravado sliding back into place like an old habit. He turned to the group, clapped his hands together, and forced a grin.

"Alright," he said, his voice only slightly rough. "Places, everyone. Let's give them a show."

There was a wild energy building in the line outside the doors as they saw George make his way over. He twirled his wand seamlessly between his fingers in a way that Ginny had always been jealous that she'd never been able to copy. The motion seemed to send a ripple of excitement over the crowd.

George twirled his wand into his hand with a showy flourish, then cast a Sonorous charm on himself. With a flick of his wrist, the shop doors unlocked and swung open, welcoming the eager crowd inside. 

"Welcome, welcome, one and all, to the grand reopening of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes! Home of mischief, mayhem, and the finest in magical innovation!" He spread his arms wide, grinning as the eager crowd surged forward. "Come in, spend your hard-earned Galleons, and prepare to be dazzled, delighted, and possibly hexed—but only in the most amusing of ways, I promise—although that promise is not legally binding!"

And then she was swept into the thick of it.

The moment the doors opened, Ginny was swept into the whirlwind of the shop floor. She darted between shelves, directing a pair of excited first-years she recognized toward the trick wand section, restocking Skiving Snackboxes before they were completely cleared out, and assuring frazzled parents that, no, most of the products weren't that dangerous. Without magic, she was left to scramble the Muggle way, picking up fallen boxes, reorganizing toppled displays, and weaving through the packed aisles. 

The sheer excitement in the air was contagious. The shop buzzed with energy, and despite the chaos, Ginny found herself thriving in it. She had to work twice as hard without a wand, but the exhilaration of the grand reopening kept her moving, pushing past the ache in her arms. 

Her seventeenth birthday, and the freedom to use magic whenever she wanted, couldn't come quickly enough.

But where birthdays were concerned…Harry's was coming up and Ginny still had no idea what to get him. Anything he wanted he could get—either because he had the money, or because people would just give it to him as a result of being Harry-bloody-Potter. The fact that he actively avoided that happening only made people want to do it more. 

She'd brought it up with Demelza during one of their early-morning Quidditch drills. But she'd just given Ginny a pointed, eyebrow-raised look as if to say it was obvious what Harry would appreciate most for his birthday that no one else could give him. 

Ginny had rolled her eyes. "Yeah, everyone will be there as he opens presents and we'll just have sex for the first time right in front of them," she'd scoffed.

That, of course, had only served to open up an entire new round of mocking once Demelza, of course, shared it with the rest of their friends.

"You're telling me that after all that you still haven't shagged yet?" Vivienne had goggled, eyes practically popping out of her head. "All the life and death situations you've both been through and…just snogging? I'm calling bullshit."

Ginny hadn't added much after that; what she and Harry got up to was their business, and no one else's. Still, it meant that she was just as stuck with what to do for his birthday present as she'd been before. So she wandered through the Wheezes, straightening displays and hoping some of George and Fred's creative energy would rub off on her and hit her with a grand bit of inspiration. 

"That's Harry Potter," a low voice said, the mention of his name grabbing her attention. She peered over to the next display and saw a middle-aged witch and wizard watching him with interest.

Harry was standing with Katie, Alicia, and her mum, who were both fawning over Teddy. Harry had him now, removed from the carrier and tucked in his arms. He was making faces at Teddy, and the little boy was staring at him intently, breaking into a gurgling smile with each outrageous face Harry made. It pulled at her heart to see Harry behaving so unabashedly un reserved. He could tease and joke with the best of the Weasleys—he'd been in their lives for so long, after all—but he so rarely just allowed himself to be silly . 

"S'that baby his, you think?" the wizard muttered, lowering his voice. "Think that's what he was off doing all year?"

"Thought he was with the Weasley girl," the witch replied, eyeing him shrewdly. "The papers said she was at Hogwarts the whole time while Potter was on the run."

"Until April," the wizard corrected, his tone turning conspiratorial. "And I'd wager that little tyke's about three months old."

"So what, you think he got her up the duff, went on the run, and now here we are?" the witch scoffed. She waved a dismissive hand. "Tiny thing like that Weasley girl? No way they could've hidden it. Especially with what I've heard went on at Hogwarts last year. They were using Unforgivables on students."

The wizard grumbled. "Yeah… pregnancy wouldn't have made it through that," he conceded with a nod. "Still, I'd put twenty Galleons on him knocking up some other bird before the Ministry went to hell and he went from ' Chosen One ' to ' Undesirable Number One .'"

"And now the 'Man Who Won ,'" the witch added knowingly. "Wouldn't be surprised if there's a whole fleet of Potters at Hogwarts in eleven years' time."

Ginny had heard enough. Her scowl smoothed into a saccharine smile as she turned toward them.

"Can I help you?" she asked, voice syrupy sweet.

The witch and wizard jolted as if they'd been hit with a Stinging Hex. They stared at her in indignation for a moment, as if wondering, "how dare this little witch interrupt our precious gossip time?" until recognition dawned on them. The wizard's face turned a shade redder than a Pygmy Puff, while the witch's mouth flapped uselessly for a moment before she clamped it shut.

"Er—" the wizard started, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just, uh, discussing the reopening. Big day and all."

"Right," the witch added hastily, avoiding Ginny's sharp gaze. "Lovely shop. Great turnout." She busied herself with a nearby display of Decoy Detonators, suddenly very interested in their packaging.

Ginny tilted her head, her saccharine smile never wavering. "Funny, I could've sworn you were discussing my personal life." She folded her arms, letting the silence stretch just long enough to watch them squirm.

The wizard let out a forced chuckle. "Wouldn't dream of it." He grabbed the nearest item—an Extendable Ear—and examined it as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world.

Ginny hummed. "Want me to ring those up for you? Six each, right?" They stammered helplessly for a moment. "Well you were over here going back and forth for so long, I just assumed you wanted a lot of them." She waved Dean over. "Dean here will help get you sorted. Unless there was something else?"

The two gossip mongers stood there with their mouths flapping up and down noiselessly. They reminded her of a pair of big, dumb, busybody fish.

"That's what I thought." She held their gaze for a beat longer, then turned on her heel and strode off to find Harry, leaving them to stew in their own awkwardness.

"There's my favorite little wizard!" she said brightly, stealing Teddy from Harry's arms and drumming her fingers up and down his chubby belly. He gurgled a happy little noise, his fingers reaching clumsily for her face.

"You're hardly one to call anybody ' little ,' Gin," Harry said teasingly. He looped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her and Teddy close. He made a goofy face for Teddy, sticking out his tongue and wiggling his eyebrows.

"Watch it, Potter," she warned playfully, shooting him a mocking glare. 

Harry laughed and gave her a quick squeeze. "I've got to run an errand in the Alley. Wanted to pick up a refresh for the broomstick polish since I think we're running low."

Ginny raised an eyebrow, her smile softening. "What, you can't leave me to deal with the crowds and the cranky customers all on my own?" she asked, though she was already shifting Teddy into a more comfortable position.

Harry shot her a wry smile. "I think it's more about making sure you and Mrs. Weasley are okay watching Teddy for a bit. You don't mind, do you?" He gave her a pleading look, his brow raised just slightly in that way he knew always worked.

Ginny glanced down at Teddy, who was reaching out with his tiny hands, trying to grab a lock of her hair and shove it in his mouth. "I suppose I could manage," she said with a grin, gently moving her hair out of reach. 

Harry's expression softened. "I'll be quick," he promised. "I just need to grab a few things." He leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead before looking at Mrs. Weasley, who was just rounding a corner with her arms full of boxes. "You're alright with this, Mrs. Weasley?" he asked her.

Mrs. Weasley, hearing her name, glanced up and nodded with a smile. "Of course, dear," she said warmly, adjusting the weight of her parcels. "Don't be too long. I'll need to bring him back to the Burrow for his nap soon."

Ginny smiled, feeling the warmth of the moment. "You'll be quick, right, Harry?"

"I'll be back before you know it," Harry assured her, grinning and heading toward the door. As he disappeared into the alley, Ginny sighed contentedly and looked down at Teddy, who was now gurgling happily as he watched the chaos around them. "Alright, you," Ginny murmured, "looks like it's just you, me, and Mum against the world."

Ginny hopped carefully onto a counter, using Teddy as an excuse to get off her feet and take a break. She talked idly to him, filling in both sides of the conversation as she filled him in on who all the strange new people were.

"Well, you've met Alicia and Katie," she cooed. "They were on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team with Harry and I." She didn't think explaining that she joined after Alicia had graduated was an important detail for a three-month-old. 

"Angelina is over with George… again ," she said pointedly, giving him a knowing look. "Oh, I know what you're thinking: 'Ginny, what's the big deal?' Well I'll tell you: Ange and my brother Fred used to date. And, well…" she sobered suddenly, feeling like a dark cloud fell across them. "That kind of thing makes stuff so incredibly complicated."

Teddy made a whiny, gurgling sort of noise and jammed his fist into his mouth. "You're right," she admitted playfully. "I don't really know what's going on there. I shouldn't judge." She gave him a piercing look. "But if you figure it out first you have to tell me." She waited a beat, then shrugged. "I'm dating your godfather. It's just the rules."

"I didn't think rules applied once you walked in these doors," Charlie's voice cut through the surrounding chatter as he rounded a display of Daydream Charms . "Because if we're all of a sudden expected to follow rules in a Fred and George Weasley establishment…"

"Charlie!" Mum said happily, pulling him into a hug. She smoothed his hair. "You haven't been home in days. Ginny said you were at Bill's."

Charlie grimaced. "Don't remind me. Not my finest hour," he admitted. Ginny had to admit she was just a little jealous of how comfortable and…grown up her brother seemed to be around her parents. Despite everything she'd been through, she was still treated like the baby of the family.

"Did Bill not give you a proper hangover potion? I'm certain Fleur knows how to brew one," Mum asked, her frown deepening.  

Ginny turned to Teddy. "He took three of them and they didn't help, did they?" she asked in a light, sing-song voice, booping the baby on his nose and earning a gurgling half-laugh. "No they didn't."

" Three ?" Mum exclaimed. "Charles Weasley! How much did you drink that three hangover potions made no difference? I thought you were smarter than that."

"I'm afraid this was my fault," said a new, rough, strangely-accented voice. 

The man who stepped through the doorway was unlike anyone Ginny had ever seen. He was tall and broad-shouldered, towering over Charlie. His tan skin had an almost unnatural reddish hue, as if sunburned. His sharp, angular features were framed by long, wild, black hair. His yellow-gold eyes seemed to almost glow with an eerie intensity—like embers that refused to burn out. 

Despite the summer heat, he was dressed for travel—his loose, sleeveless tunic was made of a lightweight but durable fabric, worn and slightly singed in places. A leather strap crossed his chest, securing a satchel filled with supplies, and his well-worn trousers were tucked into sturdy boots that had clearly seen miles of rough terrain. A lightweight cloak, frayed at the edges, hung loosely from his shoulders. Various charms and trinkets, some metallic and others seemingly carved from bone, dangled from his belt. 

He glanced at Charlie, a flicker of amusement crossing his fierce expression. "Your brother is a strong drinker, but he had his limits." He grinned good-naturedly. "He spends not enough time with dragons."

"' Not enough '? Charlie?" Ginny goggled. Who was this guy?

"I know!" Charlie said with a wide grin. "Isn't he great!" He stepped back. "Mum, Ginny, this is Sarkhan. He's the dragon expert I was telling you about. Sarkhan, this is my mum and little sister."

Sarkhan gave a toothy smile and bowed slightly. He nodded to Teddy, "Your child?" he asked, and Ginny felt herself tightening her arms around him protectively. 

Charlie coughed and stammered. "No—no!" He waved his hands placatingly at Mum. "That's, err…"

"My boyfriend's godson," Ginny explained.

Sarkhan shook his head. "I am not familiar with this word."

Mum, who had been listening in, stepped forward with a warm but patient smile. "A godfather," she explained, "is someone who takes on a special role in a child's life—like Harry has for Teddy. It's something like an additional parent."

Sarkhan's fiery eyes flickered with understanding, and he let out a thoughtful hum, nodding slowly. "And Harry—the godsfather—is the Potter one?" he asked, turning to Charlie.

Charlie nodded. "Yeah. Is Harry around, by the way?"

Ginny shook her head. "Just stepped out," she said. "What do you need him for?"

Charlie flushed. "Sarkhan wants some of his clothes," he said lamely.

Ginny's jaw dropped.

"I beg your pardon?" Mum goggled.

"Sarkhan thinks we'll have better luck finding the dragon if—when we do come across her—we have the scent of someone she's familiar with," Charlie explained hurriedly. "And I felt it would be rude of me to just take something out of his laundry."

"Oh, you felt that, did you?" Mum said accusingly. 

" Please let me be there when you ask Harry for a pair of his underwear," Ginny said, biting her lip to keep from laughing. She would pay good money to get a picture of Harry's reaction when all six feet and one hundred eighty five pounds of Slovakian dragon shaman asked him for a pair of unwashed underwear.

"Okay. If he will be back soon we will wait," Sarkhan said with a nod. He rolled his shoulders and scanned the room, his sharp eyes moving slowly over the crowd. "This is a strange place."

"My brother's joke shop," Charlie said softly. He'd finally noticed the huge portrait of Fred adorning the back wall. He swallowed hard and shook his head clear. "He had to close it during the war. Today's the big reopening."

Sarkhan hummed thoughtfully, browsing over a nearby shelf. "What is this?" he asked, holding a box of Puking Pastilles.

"A joke candy. You eat the orange half, and it makes you throw up. You eat the purple half and you stop," Ginny explained quickly, realizing how mad it must sound to someone unfamiliar with the history behind it.

"That is a mean joke," Sarkhan said warily, putting the box back.

"No!" Mum said quickly. "It's meant for students. So they can skip classes without actually being sick." A look of horror fell across Mum's face as she realized both what she knew and had defended from criticism. 

But Sarkhan looked delighted, and had picked up the box again. "This is clever," he said, nodding. "I would have used this."

Ginny didn't want to imagine what kind of school a man with a "perpetual dragon attack" look might have attended, but she nodded politely anyway. She was thankfully saved by Charlie taking up the rest of the conversational burden, introducing Sarkhan to Alicia and Katie and taking the chance to launch into a long winded spiel on post-stress trauma-induced something-or-other and how that explained the dragon's unusual habits.

She turned to Teddy, who was staring at Sarkhan in fascination. "Harry better hurry his arse up soon," she whispered to him.

The tinkling of a delicate bell announced Harry's entrance into Janus Galloglass: Enchanted Mirrors & Arcane Reflections . The shop was dimly lit, the glow of dozens of enchanted mirrors casting shifting patterns of silver and gold across the wooden floor. Some mirrors hung on the walls, others stood on ornate pedestals, and a few hovered in midair, slowly rotating as if examining the room as much as they were meant to be examined.

A whisper of movement caught Harry's attention. A nearby mirror shimmered, its glass rippling like water before clearing to reveal his reflection, though the version of himself staring back smirked slightly before he did. Another mirror, an elegant full-length one framed in dark iron, let out a thoughtful hum, as if assessing him.

It was exactly the kind of place he needed.

Behind the counter, a young wizard—maybe in his late twenties, about Bill's age—in deep violet robes was polishing a hand mirror with slow, deliberate strokes. He glanced up over the rims of his thin-framed glasses, his eyes widened momentarily before a shrewd look came over him.

"Ah," the man said smoothly, setting the mirror down with a quiet clink. "Mr. Potter. I was wondering when you'd find your way to me."

"You…knew I was coming?" Harry asked warily.

The man nodded sagely, seeming much older with his slow, deliberate movements than he looked. "I was consulting a scrying mirror the other day and I saw you enter the shop," he explained with a knowing look. "It just wasn't clear exactly when that would be." 

Yes, this was exactly what he needed.

The wizard nodded to a nearby hand mirror, perched on a pedestal. "It's eighty-two Galleons. But for you, I'll knock a third of the price off. We'll call it fifty-eight."

Harry felt himself deflate. It was just a clumsy sales pitch. 

The man seemed to sense his disappointment. "Oh, you can't blame me for trying," the wizard said with a roguish grin. "Everyone wants a scrying mirror until they realize they're going to have to learn how to scry." He threw his arms up in frustration. "I've had that mirror returned six times because some ritzy ponce didn't pay attention in Arithmancy."

"You could just…not accept a return," Harry forced out, kicking himself for even suggesting something to some shady shite salesman. 

The other wizard shrugged helplessly. "Seems mean," he said. "Besides, usually the ritzy ponces feel embarrassed and buy something bigger anyway."

"I can't tell if you're the worst salesman I've ever met or the best," Harry said. He'd always thought Fred and George's sales tactics were a bit over the top, but this bloke seemed cunning to an obliviously degree.

"I've sold that mirror six times," he said pointedly. And Harry supposed he had to give him that , at least.  "How do you feel about being lucky number seven? Powerful magical number, seven is."

The word froze Harry in his tracks. It echoed in his mind, pulling him back to the dark realization that he had been Voldemort's seventh Horcrux. A feeling like a weight, settled in his chest. He took a shuddering breath and shook his head clear, remembering why he'd come.

He grinned, the thought chasing away his lingering memories. 

The wizard laughed, clearly reading the grin as an appreciation for the joke, and waved him over. "Pull up a seat, Mr. Potter. What can I do for you?"

Harry reached into his bag and pulled out the shard of his two-way mirror, along with its full, unbroken counterpart mirror he'd borrowed from Aberforth Dumbledore. He placed them carefully on the counter. Instantly, the wizard's demeanor shifted. He pivoted, leaning over the counter, studying both the shard and the mirror from every angle. After a few moments, he crouched down to examine them more closely, bringing his face level with the counter.

" What did you bring me?" he asked wondrously. He extended his hand, all the while not breaking eye contact with the mirror. "Lysander Galloglass."

Harry shook his hand politely, still a bit put off by the man's erratic moods, but he powered on. "Those belonged to my dad and godfather," he said. "Obviously, one's broken."

"Still works though, that's fascinating," Lysander said, waving his wand over the glass and tilting his head from one side to the other. "So it's not really mirrored . But is it crossed , or entangled ?"

"I…couldn't say," Harry said, shaking his head. "I don't know if they made them or bought them."

Lysander nodded and placed his wand on the counter. "Definitely didn't buy them," he said shrewdly. "Or they'd likely match a bit better. This one," he held up the unbroken mirror. "This one is a Cordelia Shadewick piece, you can tell by the way she tints her glass: very distinctive. The other one, the broken one—I can't be sure, but I'm relatively certain by the way the silver is inlaid on the shard, that it's a Quentin Dellevue. Very ritzy stuff."

Rolling up his sleeves, Lysander spread his fingers and hovered his hands just above the mirror's surface. He closed his eyes, tilting his head as if listening for something.

Harry hesitated, unsure whether to interrupt. After nearly thirty seconds of silence, he began to wonder if Lysander had fallen asleep. He cleared his throat, and Lysander snapped back to attention, shaking his head as he slowly straightened to his full height.

"Right, so…what do you want to do with it?" he asked.

"I wanted to see if you could make another set," Harry said. "Smaller—foldable, maybe, so it won't break. I was thinking maybe you'd know how to copy the enchantments over, or…" he shrugged helplessly.

Lysander looked at him like he'd just grown two heads. "You're just handing this to me? To copy ?" 

Harry nodded warily. "Should I not?"

"Mr. Potter—Harry—Mr. Harry Potter, Sir," Lysander stammered over himself. "My family has been dealing in mirrors and enchanted glassware for hundreds of years. I've never seen or read about this configuration of enchantments on a mirror."

"Oh," Harry said lamely.

"I'm concerned that you don't understand how big a deal that is," Lysander said worriedly. "I could be some unscrupulous bloke and make copies of this enchantment and sell rights to it for a mint ."

Harry nodded. "Congratulations, I guess." He supposed he could stand to be more excited for Lysander. But to be fair, he wasn't sure how he was supposed to have been aware of all that beforehand. 

"Mate, you might not see a knut."

Harry waved him off. "Oh, that's alright. I'm fine." He already had more money than he knew what to do with, even after the extensive overhaul of Grimmauld Place. 

Lysander groaned. "I really am the worst salesman." He gave Harry a pointed look. "This is going to be a difficult job. What your father and godfather did was wildly impressive, but they made a hatchet-job of the spellwork." His fingers hovered over the mirror again. "I feel charm redundancies and some charms that do nothing more than cancel each other out. It's going to take me a while to unravel this ball of yarn."

"Are you… feeling the magic?" Harry asked, intrigued now by Lysander's approach.

Lysander nodded absently, eyes distant as he moved his fingers over the glass. "Wandlessly is really the only way to work with glass."

"Wandless magic?" Harry asked. 

"Oh yes," Lysander said, rising up imperiously. "It is as powerful and impressive as I make it out to seem." 

Harry didn't know what to say to that, but Lysander seemed to take his silence as indifference.

"I'd argue what I do is still more impressive than that bloke down in the Leaky who spends all day stirring his spoon ," Lysander said bitterly, scoffing. "Everyone's so impressed that he can move something without a wand."

"Do you think you could have the new pair by next month?" Harry asked hopefully, desperate to get back on track.

Lysander gave him an appraising look but nodded. "As long as you don't mind me consulting with a friend on this one." 

"Of course, sure, that's—"

"Another person being brought in that we'd have to share this with," Lysander said.

"The mirror?"

"The spellwork ," Lysander insisted. "The one that's worth a fortune."

"You called it a hatchet-job."

"Merlin's soggy balls," Lysander groaned. "Look, Mr. Potter, Sir. Two-way mirrors have existed since wizards invented glass. But they're usually big, monstrous, ungainly things that only rich old Purebloods buy as status symbols. They're bound to the magic of a structure's foundations, which can associate with different magical loci and lets the two mirrors interact with one another, because that kind of spellwork is so delicate."

He gestured to Harry's mirror and mirror shard. "But yours are decidedly not enormous." He prodded the broken shard with a finger. "And they're sturdy . Hatchet-job or not I'm very excited to take apart this ball of yarn and seeing if it's something we can patent."

Harry blinked. "A patent?"

"Of course," Lysander said, as if it were obvious. "You've got something original, something useful. That means intellectual property, and intellectual property means legal protections. I assume you'd rather not have some knockoff shop nicking your spell and selling cheap imitations?"

Harry hadn't really thought that far ahead, but he had to admit the idea of anyone —himself included—profiting off Sirius's mirror didn't sit right with him. "I'm not worried about that," he said. "I'd really just like a nice…not-broken pair." 

Lysander exhaled through his nose, rubbing his eyes. "I'm really trying to be a good person. I really don't like the idea of just taking this, but we're talking about life-changing work here…"

"Really?" Harry said, staring at the scuffed and broken mirrors in front of him. He hadn't felt so out of his element and under-informed in a long time. He glanced around the shop, taking in the worn, uneven floorboards creaking underfoot, the layers of dust settled in the corners, the lettering on the shelves barely legible after years of fading. "What do you need from me?"

"I'll have my solicitor draft the necessary paperwork. Once it's ready, we'll need your signatures to file the patent for the spellwork." Lysander broke into a grin. "I'll be in touch once the documents are ready. Shouldn't take long," he assured, already reaching for a roll of parchment and an inkwell. He uncapped the ink with a practiced flick, dipping his quill as he muttered to himself, already scribbling out notes. "Then you just sign, and we'll get it on record."

He paused, tapping the quill against his chin before rubbing his hands together with renewed excitement. "I'll have to owl Niko. He'll be on the next Portkey from Greece." His eyes gleamed with enthusiasm as he paced behind the counter, already lost in possibilities. "At the very least, we'll make sure this doesn't explode on you."

Harry, who had been nodding along, suddenly stiffened. "Explode?"

Lysander waved a dismissive hand. "Who knows!" he said, his voice almost shaking with excitement. "That would be something, though, wouldn't it?" He let out a laugh, clearly unbothered by the notion.

Harry, however, eyed the mirror on the counter with a little more wariness. "Yeah," he said dryly. "Hilarious."

Harry stepped out of Janus Galloglass , still staring at the receipt Lysander had handed him—a thin slip of parchment that shimmered oddly. He felt like he'd just had a conversation with an alien. A very enthusiastic, possibly unhinged alien. He was fairly certain he'd just agreed to something significant, but whether that was a groundbreaking magical patent or an elaborate practical joke remained to be seen.

Shaking his head, he tucked the receipt into his pocket and made his way back through Diagon Alley, dodging the bustling crowd. The familiar storefront of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes came into view, and he slipped inside, the noise of the shop washing over him in a tidal wave of laughter, excited chatter, and the occasional small explosion.

His eyes immediately found Ginny standing near the back counter with Teddy in her arms, Mrs. Weasley and Charlie beside her. But it wasn't just them. Standing beside them, broad-shouldered and with the air of a great beast sizing up its surroundings, was a man Harry didn't recognize.

The stranger stood out against the usual robed wizarding crowd, his sharp, angular features partially shadowed under the shop's bright, bouncing light. His dark eyes, glowing with an eerie inner fire, flicked toward Harry the moment he stepped inside, assessing him with a slow, deliberate intensity.

Ginny, by contrast, barely looked up before giving Harry a relieved, "You're back," while handing Teddy over to her mum.

The stranger's attention remained fixed on Harry, his head tilting slightly in a way that sent a wary feeling prickling down Harry's spine.

Harry lifted a brow, glancing between him and Ginny. "Er—hello?"

"Harry!" Charlie said, brushing past Ginny and throwing an arm up and around his shoulders. He dragged him over to introduce him to the strangely-intense man. "This is Sarkhan, the dragon expert we called in to help us find the Ironbelly."

"Harry Potter," the man acknowledged in a thick r-rolling accent that Harry had trouble placing. There was a curious, measuring tone to his voice. He bowed his head slightly, his eyes never leaving Harry's. "The man who frees dragons."

Harry was taken aback by the new epithet, though he found himself minding it quite a bit less than what he'd been called previously. From the man's tone it felt like a compliment, though he could just as easily imagine the Gringotts goblins muttering it in more scathing tones.

"We need to borrow some of your clothes," Charlie said.

Harry shook his head, certain he'd heard wrong. "My clothes?" he asked, glancing down.

"Don't need the ones you're wearing," Charlie said quickly.

"Oh good, because that would be weird," Harry deadpanned.

"It's for the dragon," Charlie explained.

"Naturally," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "You wouldn't want it getting cold on those chilly July nights."

"Dragon does not get cold," Sarkhan corrected gently.

"Well that's good, because I don't think we wear the same size," Harry said.

"You sassy shits are perfect for each other," Charlie grumbled, glaring from Harry to Ginny and back again. "Sarkhan thinks that if we have something that smells like you the dragon will be less likely to bolt when we get near. She might even be drawn in."

Harry sighed heavily. "Very comforting," he said. "I have some Quidditch clothes in Ron's room that I haven't washed yet."

"Great, I'll pop over and grab 'em," Charlie said. He patted Sarkhan on the shoulder before heading out for the nearest Apparition point. 

"Tell me of the dragon, Harry Potter," Sarkhan asked, his voice gravelly, as if he spent more time growling and grunting than speaking. And from what Charlie had told them all about him, Harry supposed that might be true. "We have only seen her sleeping places. She is very careful not to be caught again."

Harry grimaced, remembering the dragon's state. "It—she—was really pale, looked a bit…washed out?" he said, trying to picture the dragon from two months before. "Her scales were brittle. I remember that from when we jumped on. It felt like they were flaking off in my hands. She wasn't very healthy. Looked really thin, you know. Not at all like the Horntail."

"Hungarian Horntail?" Sarkhan asked with wide-eyed appraisal. His astonishment slowly morphed into a grin and nodded. "Ah. I heard of this from Weasley. At tournament. Horntail mother is vicious dragon. Especially with her nest. Very quick also; hard to fly better."

"Well I didn't think I would be able to fight it," Harry admitted with a wry grin.

"You would not," Sarkhan agreed, nodding. There was a pleased look about him as Harry praised the dragon's ability. "Dragon is a sacred creature; creature of magic. What you did for this dragon of the bank is a holy thing." He gave Harry a piercing look. "You are dragonfriend, Harry Potter."

"If I'm being honest, I didn't do it out of kindness or obligation," Harry admitted. "Just ended up being the only way I could get out."

"She does not care," Sarkhan said, shaking his head. "She remembers."

"Are you saying she wouldn't eat Harry?" Ginny asked, snaking her arm around his waist. 

Sarkhan made a face somewhere between a grimace and a grin. "Not so simple. Maybe she eats him, maybe not," he said. "But remembers him. Even if she eats, she will remember after also."

"Well that's comforting," Harry said.

"Yes," Sarkhan agreed, missing the sarcasm. "Dragon has a long life. She will remember you all of it. Even after all humans have forgotten. Dragon remembers." His wild gaze bore into Harry's and he tapped his temple with one finger. "When you are story. Like Merlin, like Faust, like Baba Yaga. Dragon remembers you . Not story."

He shifted uncomfortably, but found himself steadied by Ginny's presence "Oh," he muttered. "I suppose I never gave it that much thought."

"This is because you are good man," Sarkhan said, smiling warmly. "And this is the most important thing to be."

Charlie came back a few minutes later with a bag slung over his shoulder, looking uncomfortably pleased with himself. He nodded to Sarkhan and patted Harry on the arm with a grimace.

"Thanks for being a good sport about this," he said. "It struck me how weird this is as I was stuffing your clothes into a bag, but…" he shrugged. "We think it's really going to help."

Sarkhan nodded, his eyes sweeping through the room as if he was measuring the space and figuring out how to take flight. He turned and held out his hand to Harry, his fingers splayed in a way that told Harry he didn't shake hands often. "Harry Potter." When he said it this time, it sounded similar to the first, but there was a knowing sound to it. Like he'd taken Harry's measure and was satisfied with it.

Harry took his hand. "Good luck, Sarkhan."

As the last customer stepped out into the cool night air of Diagon Alley, the brass bell above the door gave a final jingle before falling silent. Harry let out a heavy sigh, his muscles aching from the long day, and watched as George flicked his wand, locking the door with a sharp click .

The shop looked like it had been through a battle, though he supposed that where George's inventions were concerned that was probably par for the course. Shelves were half-empty from the day's rush, stray bits of colorful packaging littered the floor, and the air was thick with the lingering scents of fireworks and sweets. Somewhere in the back room, a Decoy Detonator let out a faint fizzling before sputtering to a stop.

George turned to face the group remaining inside—family, friends, and a few trusted employees. He stood still for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the room. Then, with a tired but satisfied grin, he ran a hand through his hair and spread his arms wide.

"Ladies, gentlemen, and infants of all hair colors," he began imperiously. "We did it!"

A round of exhausted applause erupted from the group and Harry joined in. Mr. Weasley had arrived shortly before closing and quickly pulled George into a fierce hug. Harry saw him whispering something into George's ear, but held back to give them some privacy. There was a tightness to Mr. Weasley that Harry wasn't used to seeing, even after everything that had happened. Mrs. Weasley found him next, smoothing out his messy red hair and patting him softly on the cheek. 

One by one, the crowd began to filter out. Lee Jordan was the first to head out, swinging through the back of the shop up to the flat above. "Great work today, George!" Lee called over his shoulder as he pulled the door open. "Let's do it again tomorrow."

"Definitely," George called back, though his voice had a note of weariness now. 

Dean and Verity finished straightening a few things up then folded and stowed their magenta robes behind the counter and bid George goodnight. The old Gryffindor Quidditch team followed next, with Angelina lingering just a moment longer than the other two girls. She had her hand at George's elbow; they both looked like they were going to say something, but nothing happened. 

Harry let out a heavy sigh. They had it bad.

The rest of the crew trickled out in twos and threes until it was just the immediate family left. Percy and Mrs. Weasley were already casting cleaning spells; banishing scattered packaging, mending singed boxes, and sending displaced products back to their designated spots on the shelves. 

Teddy—still strapped to Mrs. Weasley's front in the carrying contraption—found it all utterly fascinating, and let everyone know about it by squealing loudly. His hair was a shocking, vibrant, Weasley-red, and he looked more at home with the gathering of Weasleys than Harry ever had.

"Do you want me to take Teddy, Mrs. Weasley?" Harry offered.

But Mrs. Weasley waved him off. "If you think you'll be able to keep him better entertained," she said teasingly. She waved her wand dramatically in front of Teddy's face, just out of his reach, and with another flourish righted a stack of Skiiving Snackboxes that had fallen over.

"Think that went well?" Ginny asked, her voice soft as she joined George by the counter. Her birthday was still over a month away, so using magic to quickly clean up the shop wasn't in the cards for her. 

"Better than expected," George replied, giving her a look that was both grateful and slightly awed. "I wasn't sure anyone would show up, honestly."

Harry, who'd been quietly watching from afar, stepped forward. "I think everyone is impressed, George," he said with a grin, clapping him on the shoulder. "It's a hit."

"Yeah, well, we'll see how the next few days go," George replied with a wry smile, though his eyes still held that sense of pride.

"Got any plans for new products?" Harry asked. He'd seen the usual suspects out and on display, but would have put money on George breaking out something truly outrageous.

But George shook his head, frowning tightly. "Not sure what to do about that, really," he muttered. "Freddie and I always came up with that kind of stuff together. Not sure I'm ready to give that a try yet."

Harry nodded. 

"Besides," George said, perking up and gesturing to the emptying shop. "Everything's flying off the shelves. I'm going to have to work overtime just to get all the usual goods restocked. Don't have much time to work on anything new right now."

"I think people are just glad to have something fun again," Harry offered, and George nodded sagely. "But if you are…looking to tinker around with something, I've got a favor to ask."

This, it seems, got George's attention. He turned to Harry, an eyebrow raised curiously. "What's this? A favor for my number one investor?"

"How many investors do you have?" Harry asked.

"Just the one."

Harry rolled his eyes, reaching into his mokeskin pouch and removing the worn parchment of the Marauders map. George stilled as soon as he saw it, and Harry handed it over to him, trying not to notice the tremor in George's hands as he took it.

"When we were on the run I had the map with me," he said, his voice low. He spared a glance at Ginny, but she was too intensely focused on George to meet his gaze. "I was just making sure that…well…that Ginny was okay. And I kept seeing Wormtail's name." He almost spat out the word. 

"I hate seeing it. After what he did…he doesn't deserve to be there; with my dad, and Sirius, and Remus. But I don't know how to do it. I was never any good with this stuff." He gestured vaguely, waving his hand helplessly over the folded map.

"Hermione certainly could figure—"

Harry shook his head and waved him off. "Hermione would change it. She'd…I dunno…remove some of the secret passages, or hide names, or make it harder to break the rules," he said. "And that's…that's not what the map is for." He swallowed hard, watching the intent look on George's face. "I was…I thought…If I made it back, I was going to ask you and Fred…You were the only ones who would get it."

George was quiet for a long moment. He ran his fingers over the edges of the map—cautiously, gingerly, as if it might burn him if he weren't careful. He swallowed hard, then took the map more firmly and looked Harry in the eye.

"One last Death Eater to get rid of," he said softly, seemingly more to himself than to Harry.

Harry nodded. "He doesn't get to be remembered," he said. 

George's eyes seemed to light up and he drew his wand. His gaze danced from Harry to Ginny and back again and then, twirling the wand between his fingers, raised it as if he were speaking an oath, and whispered:

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Chapter Text

July 5, 1998

The Portkey Office was crowded, stuffy, and smelled faintly of burnt rubber and Floo powder. Harry stood beside Ginny, both of them leaning against the arrivals desk while Mrs. Weasley paced anxiously in front of them. Every time the Portkey arrival platform gave off its telltale pop and flash of blue light, she craned her neck expectantly.

Finally, after nearly fifteen minutes of waiting, Ron appeared in a whirl of color and motion, stumbling slightly as he landed. In one hand, he clutched a backpack; in the other, a large cat carrier swayed precariously, Crookshanks squashed inside looking thoroughly offended.

"There he is!" Mrs. Weasley bustled forward, fussing over him before he could even straighten up. "Oh, Ron, you look exhausted. Were the Portkey connections terrible?"

Ron let out a long-suffering sigh, setting the carrier down with a thunk. "I'm fine. Just knackered. I had four stops before getting here. Had to wait almost an hour in India for the keysickness to wear off." 

Harry grimaced and gave Ron a sympathetic look. Portkey travel always left him a bit queasy, and he'd never even had to cross continents with one. The longest trip he'd taken was the night Voldemort returned—and to this day, Harry wasn't entirely sure if his nausea came from the Portkey itself or from the aftermath of dueling Voldemort and watching Cedric die.

Mrs. Weasley rubbed Ron's back gently. "How many stops?"

"Four: India, Israel, Romania, and Germany."

"Really?" Ginny asked brightly. "How was it?" There was an eagerness to her that Harry hadn't seen before. They hadn't really talked about travel very much. They'd been so caught up with what came next that they hadn't really spared much thought to what came after. He knew some appeal to the whole professional Quidditch track was the chance to travel the world, but he was only just noticing how much that meant to Ginny, too.

"Wouldn't know," Ron muttered. "Didn't see anything outside the local Portkey offices. Romania's had a view, at least. And I think Crookshanks hates me now." The cat gave a low, grumbling mrowl of agreement, his bottlebrush tail flicking furiously against the bars.

Ginny crouched down to peer inside the carrier. "Poor thing. You probably jostled him the whole way."

"I didn't jostle him…much. It's hard to control anything whipping around in a Portkey," Ron muttered. "If it weren't for the fact that Muggle travel takes so much longer I'd say they have the right idea."

"Well don't you worry, Crookshanks," Ginny told the cat soothingly. She poked her fingers through the bars of the cat carrier and let him rub his head up against them. "We'll get you back to the Burrow and you can run around all you want. Those gnomes have been getting all sorts of bold without you around to reign them in."

Mrs. Weasley let out a frustrated grunt of agreement and Ginny grinned at Harry over Crookshanks's crate.

"No Hermione?" Harry asked carefully, daring to voice the question that he knew they'd all been wondering. 

Ron shook his head, but Harry noticed there was only some tired weariness in his movements, no fear, uncertainty, or anger. Ron was never one to hide his emotions, so it couldn't all be bad news. 

"Hermione's flying back with her parents." He rubbed at the back of his neck, hair even messier than usual, as if he'd spent the last few days running his hands through it in frustration.

"Flying?" Harry repeated. "As in…on an airplane?"

Ron's response was a terse "Yeah." He turned back to the Portkey Office agent. "Think you could get a message back to the Australians and let my girlfriend know I made it alright?" 

The agent, a thin wisp of a witch, nodded. "Updates will have already been sent." She handed Ron an assortment of vials and a wrapped square of something chalky.

"Right then, standard Keylag package for you." Her voice was brisk but not unkind, like someone who had seen a hundred wobbling travelers before breakfast. She slid the tray forward. "Draught first—quick swallow, no sniffing it unless you fancy turning green. Then the tonic—gives you a bit of a tether back to the here and now. Biscuit's optional, but it helps absorb the potion if you're feeling queasy. You'll want to hold off for at least five minutes before you try any spells or Flooing off again."

With another wand movement, a small enchanted quill scrawled the Ron's name, Portkey route, and Keylag level on a Ministry ledger—a record kept to track how frequently witches and wizards exceeded recommended travel limits. "If you're seeing double or hearing echoes in an hour, you'll want to contact your healer. And no Apparating until tomorrow—unless you want to find yourself halfway through a wall."

She gave Ron a final, sympathetic smile. "Should clear up in a jiffy. Welcome back to London, Mr. Weasley."

Ron nodded, entirely unfazed by the explanation. Harry figured he was already familiar with everything after the back and forth. Ron downed both vials quickly and then popped the biscuit into his mouth as he led the way out of the office toward the corridor. 

"So Bill was right," Ginny mumbled with a frown. "He guessed you'd be coming back alone."

Ron nodded absently. "Her parents didn't want to use magic. Can't say I blame them, really. They're…" He let out a slow breath. "They're still furious about it all—not just the memory thing, either—about Hogwarts, the war, the fact that Hermione barely told them anything until it was all over."

Harry grimaced, again realizing how little he'd appreciated Hermione's situation during the war. Mrs. Weasley's mouth pressed into a thin line of sympathy, but Ron kept going. "They even talked about pulling her out of Hogwarts. Said maybe it wasn't worth going back for her N.E.W.T.s after all that."

Harry swallowed down his discomfort; the moment the war had ended he'd known she'd be back. He couldn't imagine Hermione not going to Hogwarts for her final year. He had enough trouble imagining Hermione in any other setting.

"What?" Ginny looked scandalized. "She'd never—"

"Of course not," Ron said with a fond-but-tired smile. "She and her mum had a massive row about it. Hermione won, obviously." Harry noticed the pride in his voice. "First time I've ever seen someone get so close to out-stubborning her—and now I know exactly where she gets it from."

They reached the lifts, and Mrs. Weasley pressed the button impatiently. As they waited, Ron sighed again. "We tried showing her parents some of the magical news from here. Thought it might help them understand what she was really up against, y'know? Even their healers mentioned it. Told them if anything we were actually under-playing how bad things were. It worked a bit. They're still not happy, but at least they get why she couldn't just sit it out."

"And you?" Harry asked. "Did they, er…grill you?" He could only imagine what that would have been like; if Ginny had been the one keeping a secret world from her parents and he'd been the dutiful boyfriend following along to right that. 

Ron's ears pinked slightly. "Honestly? Not much. They were so busy arguing with Hermione, I sort of flew under the Keeper. Silver linings, I guess. They did make sure Hermione and I weren't sharing a room, though. Hermione got the guest room, and I took the couch." He shrugged, as if to say it wasn't a big deal, but the slight grin gave him away. "Probably for the best, considering how much I apparently snore."

Harry leaned close towards Ginny and stifled a laugh. "'Apparently' my arse."

"You're not telling me anything I don't already know," she said with a grin.

"Har-bloody-har," Ron grumbled, clearly tired from the trip. "I don't even get five minutes with my best mate before he and my sister start in on me? No 'great to see you, Ron' or 'welcome back, wonderfulest big brother'—"

"Is that how they talk in Australia? 'Wonderfulest?'" Ginny teased.

"It's good to see you, Ron," Harry said with a grin, embracing him. He pulled back and gave Ron a hard look, and then hoping Ron would catch his meaning, asked, "Taken care of?" 

Ron looked thrown off guard for a moment, before catching on. He nodded. "All good, mate." Ron's ears went red, and he fought through a chewed-lipped smile. "Great—better, even, than great. Err…yeah."

Then it was Harry's turn to feel caught off guard. He gave Ron a stunned look as a wide grin fell across his best mate's face. "Really?"

Ron nodded tightly, the grin never leaving his face. "Yeah. I don't know why I waited so long. Or why I was worried."

"About the trip?" Ginny asked.

"About any of it," Ron said.

Harry found himself wearing a matching grin. He'd been worried that the two of them alone—without him—was more than just the set up to a running joke. He was often a buffer between them. They could be so prone to arguing with each other, sometimes stopping only because they realized it made him uncomfortable. Part of him had been worried their fledgling relationship wouldn't survive the ordeal. 

But they had. They'd more than just survived; they'd grown closer. And Ron, who had always tended to second-guess himself, had zero hesitation now. It sent a wave of fondness flooding through him. 

"Does someone want to clue me in on what all these secretive and meaningful looks are about?" Ginny teased, clearly irked at being left out. 

"Best mates stuff," Ron said waving her off. 

"Oh please," Ginny rolled her eyes. "Demelza and I don't send each other secret looks like that."

"That's a boldfaced lie," Ron muttered.

Harry chuckled and instinctively found Ginny's hand with his, looping his fingers between hers.

This was not lost on Ron, who rolled his eyes dramatically and groaned, "Alright, alright. Let's get a move on." 

The lift doors opened, and they all stepped inside. 

"Will Hermione be staying with her parents, then?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

Ron nodded, and Harry caught the look of disappointment on his face. "Can't really blame her," he admitted. "She said she'd come by to pick up her things."

"How did you get their living situation straightened out?" Mrs. Weasley asked. 

"The Australian Ministry worked with our Muggle Liaison Office to check if the Grangers' house was still available. They rented it out to another family before moving, so now they're stuck renting a flat in London for a bit themselves." Ron grimaced uncomfortably. "At least it's still near St. Mungo's, so they can keep getting checkups and whatever else they need." He gave the carrier a gentle nudge with his foot. "Crookshanks came with me to make it easier."

"Did Crookshanks…"

"He remembered Hermione immediately. He was all over her as soon as they opened the door," Ron said with a wry grin. "Probably the first thing that really helped our case since they said he was always so suspicious of anyone else. They couldn't even remember where they'd gotten him, which made accepting the truth a bit easier."

"We should invite them over to the Burrow, have them over for dinner one night after they get back. Maybe that will help put them at ease?" Mrs. Weasley offered. 

Ron bobbed his head from side to side. "I'd love that, but…" he trailed off awkwardly. "Hermione had a hard enough time getting them to agree to go to Lorien House for treatment."

"We'll dress it up under the guise of getting them a home-cooked meal while Hermione collects her things," Mrs. Weasley said assuringly. "No big production, but I imagine they will have some questions as the trials get closer."

Ron nodded, his face set grimly. He shot Harry a worried look. "You've got more summons than Hermione and I put together," he said. "She reckons it's because you were there when Voldemort came back and called all the Death Eaters."

Harry nodded.

"Still can't believe you were called to defend Malfoy," Ron grumbled. "Slimy prick."

"Parts of the truth look better for him," Harry said.

"And the parts that don't?" Ron asked, and Harry immediately thought back to his visions of Malfoy sitting with Voldemort at Malfoy Manor and their duel in the Room of Requirement.

"I'll tell those, too," he said firmly.

Mrs. Weasley patted his arm fondly. "Let's worry about that later, dear. This was a lot to take on and you did remarkably."

Ron gave a small smile, looking both relieved and bone-tired. "Thanks, Mum. Now, can we go home? I need a butterbeer—or something stronger—and this cat's plotting my murder."

"Oh, bed, I missed you," Ron groaned, falling face-first into his pillows. 

"Should I…give you two some privacy," Harry asked, eyeing Ron and the bed warily. "Was the couch that bad?"

"Not exactly made for sleeping," Ron grumbled, pushing himself up. He had bags under his eyes, and Harry knew the keylag was catching up with him despite the draught and tonic given to him by the Ministry. They were supposed to reset his internal clock to their locale, but there was apparently no helping the exhaustion that followed that many consecutive Portkey trips.

"Didn't you two stay in a hotel for a bit?" Harry asked.

Ron nodded, explaining how the British Ministry had put them up in one while they attempted to locate Hermione's parents, but she and Ron only stayed until they were able to convince her parents of the truth. After that, Ron was relegated to "the lumpy couch," as he called it.

"I finally get why you were worried, by the way," Ron said, casting Harry an apologetic look. "One of the first nights at her parents' house, Hermione told me I could sneak up to the guest room after they were asleep." A flash of horror crossed his face, and he shook his head like the memory alone was enough to make him shudder.

Harry raised an eyebrow, fighting back a grin. "Did you?"

Ron pulled a face that was somehow both a grin and a grimace. "Well, I am a Gryffindor."

Harry snorted. "Not quite as easy as you thought, was it?"

"Bloody terrifying," Ron admitted, before his expression softened. "But…I dunno, mate. As hard as everything's been, with her parents and the memory stuff and the house…she and I were just…" He shook his head in disbelief, a slow smile creeping in. "Brilliant."

"I'll be honest, I was a little worried," Harry said sheepishly. "With the way you two love to go at it."

Ron's ears turned bright red. "Wait, hang on, what? Who told you—Did she write you? When did—?"

Harry started, surprised by the outburst.

Ron's eyes widened in realization. "Oh," he said, coloring even redder. "You meant…arguing…right."

Harry nodded warily. "Oh." And then realization dawned. "Oh." He tried to recall all the knowing looks the Weasley brothers had shot him after learning he was dating Ginny, and he couldn't resist giving Ron his best disapproving older brother impression. "I suppose you made good use of that hotel room, then."

Ron burst out laughing, and Harry's stern look crumbled right along with him.

"Silencing charms in the guest room, too," Ron said, still pink around the edges.

Harry groaned. "Alright, remember what I said about Hermione being like my sister?"

"For best mates, we really picked the worst girls to fall for, didn't we?" Ron said with a dramatic sigh. "We can't talk about any of this with each other. Can't share, can't brag—"

Harry winced. "Please, don't tell me you have something to brag about."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Come off it, mate. You're telling me you wouldn't brag about Ginny if you could?"

"I'll always brag about Ginny," Harry corrected, "just not about…what we get up to."

"Oh, so there is 'getting up to,' is there?"

Harry scoffed and lobbed his pillow at Ron, who caught it with practiced ease and immediately tossed it back.

Harry laughed, shaking his head, and for the first time in weeks, he felt like everything was just as it should be. He hadn't realized just how much he'd missed his best mate until now—and he was glad, truly glad, to have him back.

"You went to the reopening of the shop?" Ron asked hesitantly. He sat forward, fingers laced together. "Was…was George alright?"

Harry gave him a curious look.

Ron continued. "With me—and Hermione, too—with us not being there," he said, frowning. He shook his head, clearly frustrated. "I was so hopeful I'd make it back in time, but…"

"George was alright," Harry said, hoping to put Ron a bit at ease. "It was a lot, sure, but he handled everything. It's been crazy busy, too. I don't think he's had much time to slow down and think about it all yet."

Ron breathed a sigh, though Harry wasn't certain whether it was one of relief or defeat. "And…the rest of the time? When he's not at work."

Harry frowned. "He spends a lot of time at work. I think he likes being busy," he said with a helpless shrug. "The rest of the time he's either out with Lee or here."

Ron let out a heavy sigh and flopped backwards, half-propped against the wall. 

"Though he also helped me out a bunch with Grimmauld Place," Harry pointed out hopefully. "He always seems to do better when he's working on something."

"I can't wait to see it," Ron said. 

Harry grinned. "You won't recognize it. I hardly recognize it," he said. 

"You'll recognize it even less when George starts up his at-home experiments," Ron said with a laugh. He shook his head. "I still can't believe you invited George to live with you."

"Not just him, you know that, right?" Harry asked. "Whether you want to join the Aurors with me or not…" he trailed off, hoping Ron would catch his meaning. "If you want to go back to Hogwarts with Hermione I would understand, and you know it. But when you're done you might need a place to stay."

"Yeah?" Ron asked, though from his tone, Harry knew he never doubted it for a minute. 

"Whichever room you want," Harry said. "I told George you had the first choice."

"Really?" Ron asked, sitting up straight. "Can I have Buckbeak's room?"

Harry laughed loudly. "I've been calling that the Master Bedroom for so long I'd forgotten," he said through teary eyes. Faye had gushed over the room, and he could only imagine explaining to her what they'd used it for during the War.

"Sure. That's reasonable," Ron said warily, eyeing him like he'd cracked. But Harry just shrugged and waved him on.

Ron continued, "Hermione and I talked while we were in Australia."

"And I'm going to assume that's all you two did," Harry deadpanned.

Ron gave him a one-finger salute, but forged on as if he hadn't been interrupted. "We talked about what was coming next," he said. "Just to be sure we were both on the same page. With us and what we wanted."

"I'm guessing you were," Harry said, enjoying the way Ron's eyes seemed to light up when he talked about Hermione. It was endearingly sappy, though he could only imagine that Ron had felt the same way when he and Ginny were around each other.

Ron grinned wryly. "I'm still breathing, aren't I?" he asked. Harry acquiesced with a nod, and he continued, "Talked about what next year might look like if we were in school together, or if we were doing things apart." He looked as thoughtful as Harry had ever seen him. 

"Hermione knows what she wants," Ron explained. "She always has, in some way. She wants to move mountains, make waves."

"Fix things," Harry said knowingly.

"It's a bit infuriating, isn't it," Ron said with a smirk. 

Harry held up his hands in surrender. "She's your girlfriend."

"Well I don't really know what I want," Ron admitted before clarifying, "Career-wise. But I know that I won't find it at Hogwarts. I need to be out in the world, making a difference." He gave Harry a pointed look. "What we were doing this whole past year, it mattered. It made a difference all the way in Australia. And I realized that the one thing I know more than anything else is that I trust you: everything I love, I trust you to love it just as much as I do, whether we're talking Quidditch or family. And I trust you to know what's right. I'm better for it, too. So I'm going to follow your lead again."

"Yeah?" Harry asked tentatively. "I know last time—I don't want you to feel like you need to keep following me around."

Ron shook his head. "Yeah. Knowing all that, I'm still choosing to do it—the Auror thing. After everything we've all been through I think that's where I can do the most good. And maybe what I end up doing is something else entirely. But right now, I think following your lead is right where I need to be."

"Hermione's pretty smart about that kind of stuff," Harry said, knowing that while Ron very clearly thought that way, he wouldn't have been able to put it so concisely without Hermione helping him articulate it.

Another soppy smile fell across Ron's face. "She is, isn't she. Merlin, I love that girl."

"Oh really?" Harry said, grinning to match. 

Ron nodded, a distant, incredulous look on his face; like he couldn't believe his luck. "Yeah. I'm over the bloody moon for her, Harry," he said. "Have been for a while, I think. Both of us, really. We had some good laughs about it over the last few weeks."

"Does that mean less bickering?" Harry asked hopefully. He feigned innocence. "I'm okay with it, but everyone else wanted me to ask."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Har har, you prat. One of these days you'll all come up with some new material," he grumbled. "We figured it out pretty quick. We're just so good at riling each other up—"

"Please fix the phrasing on that," Harry begged.

"Needling each other," Ron supplied, rolling his eyes again.

"Better, but not for you," Harry pointed out.

"Getting under each other's skin?" Ron mock snarled. "Like you're doing right now?" Still, Ron couldn't really keep the smile off his face. "Anyway. We're good at it, always have been. So we agreed that any time we do start to argue for real, we can't be quippy. Quippy means we can tease and joke about it. Most of the time we fought before it was one of us teasing the other and the other not being in on the game."

"And now?" Harry asked.

Ron shrugged. "Now we're both in on it," he said with a smirk. "And we shag when the game's over."

"Merlin, fuck!" Harry groaned. "I've known you both since I was eleven."

"I've known Ginny since she was born," Ron teased back. 

"We haven't—" Harry sputtered, shooting to his feet. "Ginny and I haven't—nothing's…happened."

"Oh," Ron said awkwardly. He failed to fight a grin. "So you really don't have anything to brag about."

"I thought this was the one part of our friendship that we didn't talk about."

Ron nodded thoughtfully. "I thought so, too, but I feel like I have an advantage now, and I kind of like it."

"I'm going to tell Hermione you said that," Harry warned.

"Good," Ron said, a challenge in his voice. "I want her to know that I'm clever when she's not around, too."

Harry laughed. "I'm really happy for you both."

Ron smiled, leaning back on his bed and kicking his feet up. "Thanks, mate." He hummed thoughtfully and his eyes fluttered. The lag was getting to him. "You ever meet someone that just…is amazing? Someone that you're just in awe of all the bloody time?"

Harry grinned, glancing from Ron to the walls of the Burrow all around them. "Every day."

July 10, 1998

The first two days after Ron's return were a blur of grogginess, half-hearted conversation, and the occasional grumble as he dozed off in odd places around the Burrow. Whether it was the lingering effects of Portkey travel, the stress of dealing with Hermione's parents, or simply exhaustion from the entire ordeal, none of them could say for certain. Even Ron didn't seem sure, drifting between sleep and wakefulness with an almost dazed quality. But by the third day, he was at least alert enough to react when an owl arrived bearing a letter from Hermione.

It had been a bit of a shock—Hermione, ever prepared, had somehow managed to find an owl courier in London, despite having spent the past month immersed in Australia. Her note was short but informative: she and her parents had arrived back in England safely, and she'd included a new address for return mail, along with a phone number they could use to reach her. She even suggested they use a payphone in the village, assuming the Burrow still didn't have a proper telephone installed.

What followed was a careful back-and-forth, mostly between Mr. Weasley and the Grangers, with Hermione acting as the intermediary. The Grangers remained wary, reluctant to return to the magical world after everything they had learned, but eventually, they agreed to visit for dinner and to help Hermione collect her things she'd need for staying with them the rest of the summer. They had conditions, of course—or at least preferences for the evening that Hermione made sure to spell out: minimal magic, no pressure, and, Harry suspected, a fair bit of skepticism that this meeting would change their minds about their daughter returning to Hogwarts.

Now, five days after Ron's return, on the afternoon of July 10th, they were preparing to head to Diagon Alley to meet Hermione and her parents. Harry had volunteered to accompany Ron and Mr. Weasley for the trip, partly to help with the reunion but also, Harry knew, to provide a bit of balance. Hermione's parents didn't trust magic right now, and Arthur Weasley—though fascinated by Muggle life—sometimes had a way of making them feel like specimens in a study rather than people.

As they gathered near the fireplace, preparing to Floo to the Leaky Cauldron, Harry adjusted his glasses and glanced at Ron, who was fidgeting restlessly.

"You alright?" Harry asked.

Ron exhaled sharply. "Yeah. Just…excited. Terrified. All at once, you know?"

Harry did know, even if he didn't understand it exactly. Hermione's parents weren't just protective—they were hurt, betrayed, even if they didn't say it outright. The way forward wasn't going to be easy. Diagon Alley would be difficult enough with the crowds of witches and wizards running every which way even before their recent ordeal. Harry felt that if he could use some of his celebrity to buy them some space it was the least he could do.

"Then let's make sure it goes the right way," Ginny said simply, stepping up beside them. She flicked a bit of soot off Ron's shoulder and smirked. "Put on that Weasley charm, remember that you fought in a war, and maybe try not to look like you're about to throw up."

Ron scowled, but before he could retort, Mr. Weasley stepped forward.

"Right, everyone ready? Off we go, then!"

Harry took a breath, then stepped into the green flames. He stumbled slightly as he stepped out of the fireplace into the Leaky Cauldron, brushing stray soot from his sleeves. The pub was quieter than usual, caught in the lull between the lunch and dinner rush. A few patrons lingered over late meals, and Tom the barman was polishing glasses behind the counter, sparing them only a brief glance before returning to his work.

Ron arrived a second later, nearly tripping over Harry as he stepped aside, muttering under his breath about hating Floo travel. Mr. Weasley brought up the rear, looking around the dimly lit pub with bright curiosity, as if it had changed dramatically since his last visit.

"Right, then," Mr. Weasley said, clapping his hands together. "Hermione said they'd be coming in through the Muggle entrance. We should go meet them, make sure they don't get too overwhelmed."

Ron nodded, he looked equal parts nervous and eager, and Harry couldn't blame him—Hermione had always been steady, constant, a pillar of reason in their trio. But she had spent the last month dealing with something completely outside of her control, and now, she was stepping back into their world with two people who weren't sure they wanted her there at all.

As they made their way toward the pub's front entrance, Harry noted how subdued everything felt. The wizarding world was still in a strange limbo—rebuilding, healing, yet not quite sure what to do with itself now that the war was over. There were still wanted posters plastered on some of the walls, bearing the faces of Death Eaters who hadn't yet been caught.

They'd be his problem—he looked over at Ron—their problem soon enough.

Harry pushed open the door to the Muggle side of the Leaky Cauldron, stepping out into the small, unassuming storefront that separated the pub from the rest of London. A bell jingled overhead, and he caught sight of Hermione just outside, standing near the entrance with her parents.

She looked different. Not drastically so, but enough that Harry noticed—her hair was pulled back into a low ponytail instead of its usual wild curls, and she was dressed in neatly pressed Muggle clothes, a practical bag slung over one shoulder. Her expression was composed, but there was a tension in her posture, her fingers gripping the strap of her bag tightly as she spoke quietly to her parents.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger stood close to her, their expressions unreadable. Her father looked particularly uncomfortable, shifting his weight as he glanced at the brick wall that concealed the magical entrance. Her mother's lips were pressed into a thin line, her eyes flicking warily to the Leaky Cauldron's doorway as if expecting something to leap out at them.

Ron froze for half a second before stepping forward, an uncertain grin breaking across his face.

"Hermione!"

She turned at once, and despite everything—the nerves, the tension, the uncertainty—her face lit up when she saw Ron.

"Ron!"

She closed the distance in three quick steps, throwing her arms around him in a fierce hug. Ron nearly dropped her in surprise, but swiftly hugged her back, holding her to him like they hadn't seen each other in weeks, nevermind days.

Harry and Mr. Weasley stepped forward as well, and Hermione pulled away just long enough to give each of them quick, relieved hugs before turning back to her parents.

"Mum, Dad," she said, her voice measured but firm. "You remember Ron's father, Arthur Weasley. And Harry, of course."

Mr. Weasley stepped forward first, extending a hand with a warm smile. "Mr. and Mrs. Granger, it's a pleasure to see you again. I'm delighted we were able to convince you to join us."

There was a pause before Mr. Granger reached out and shook his hand, his grip firm but reserved.

Mrs. Granger gave them all a once-over, her expression unreadable. "Well," she said after a moment, "we should get going, shouldn't we?"

Hermione stiffened slightly at her mother's tone, but she gave a small nod.

"Right," Ron said, swallowing.

Harry could feel the tension hanging thick in the air as they turned toward the entrance. He glanced at Hermione, who was doing her best to look composed, but there was a flicker of worry in her eyes as she reached for her parents' hands, guiding them forward.

With a deep breath, Mr. Weasley pushed open the door to the Leaky Cauldron, holding it wide as he gestured for the Grangers to step inside. Harry watched as Hermione's parents hesitated on the threshold. Her father's eyes flicked warily over the odd assortment of patrons, while her mother's lips pressed into a thin line, her grip tightening on her bag. Hermione stood beside them, her shoulders squared, as though bracing herself for whatever came next.

With a quiet sigh, she reached for her mother's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze before stepping inside. After a brief pause, her parents followed, crossing over into the wizarding world for the first time since their memories had been restored.

"And how will we be traveling to your home?" Mr. Granger asked Mr. Weasley as he led them all towards the Leaky's fireplace. Harry noted the skepticism in his voice. "Your letter mentioned some sort of network, but…"

"Ah, yes, the Floo Network," Mr. Weasley said genially. He paused thoughtfully. "It's a system that is set up to connect fireplaces magically. Most Wizarding homes are connected to it."

"And it's safe?" Mrs. Granger asked.

"Very much so," Mr. Weasley assured them. "I would have arranged a car, but that's still nearly a four hour drive." Mr. Weasley shrugged sheepishly. "After Ron explained that an aeroplane trip from Australia could take more than twenty-four hours I thought you'd spent enough time sitting all tight together. And the Floo is not nearly as…abrupt , shall we say, as side-along Apparition or a Portkey."

Mr. Weasley eyed Harry playfully. "Though it gave Harry some trouble once. I think he's been a bit Floo-shy since—actually I believe that was when we first met."

"You would be, too, if that was your first experience with it," Harry said. The Grangers cast him an askew glance and Ron kicked the back of his heel. "If you speak clearly you'll be fine," he said reassuringly. 

"Apparition," Mrs. Granger said thoughtfully, testing the word. She turned to Hermione and Ron, who were now walking hand-in-hand. "You showed us that, in Australia, right?" Hermione nodded. "You said it was like being squeezed through a tube of toothpaste."

"Why would you ever travel in such a way?" Mr. Granger asked. "Being magical and all, aren't there ways to…magic away the discomfort of something like that?"

If Mr. Weasley was put off by the accusatory tone, he didn't show it. In fact, he took it in stride. "You know, Hermione asked the same question," Mr. Weasley said. "Not about Apparition, but about Portkey travel—before their fourth year when she joined us at the Quidditch World Cup."

"And those are what she and Ron took to get to Australia?" Mrs. Granger asked. "I'm told he needed…potions of a sort afterwards?"

"Consecutive Portkey trips can do a number on you. Though I'll admit I haven't travelled nearly as far as Ron and Hermione did," Mr. Weasley admitted. "Portkeys are highly regulated as well. But—and why I brought them up—Hermione had asked me years ago about the discomfort she felt while using one for the first time and why we couldn't invent a magical way to travel that wasn't quite so uncomfortable or…dramatic ."

He leaned in conspiratorially. "Perhaps magical travel just condenses that discomfort down into one vivid moment rather than prolonging it over the course of a long car or aeroplane ride," he said. "I suspect that any amount of travel—magical or otherwise—requires some discomfort. It may just be an immutable fact of existence."

The Grangers seemed intrigued by the idea, though Harry could tell they were trying rather hard not to be. 

"So, Harry," Mrs. Granger began tentatively. "I take it this…Floo is not your favorite way to travel." 

Harry bobbed his head from side to side, trying to remain blase about it. "Mostly just lingering nerves from that first trip," he admitted with a shrug. "I ended up tumbling out of the fireplace in one of the seedier shops. Had no idea what was going on."

"So what do you prefer to travel by?" Mr. Granger asked, curiosity piqued. 

"Apparition is pretty convenient, and you get used to the squeezing bit pretty quickly," Harry admitted. "But nothing beats a broom. Not as quick, sure, but you feel…free."

"If I recall correctly you and Ron play a sport on broomstick," Mr. Granger said, glancing over his shoulder at Ron. "He listened to a few games on the wireless while we were at Lorien House."

"Despite my insistence otherwise," Hermione muttered.

Harry snorted, finally drawing a smile from Mr. Granger. "He even tried to explain the rules, though he can't be serious that there's no time limit on a game," Mr. Granger said skeptically.

Harry spun around to face Ron. "Tell me you didn't go on about Quidditch to your girlfriend's Muggle parents while they were dealing with the effects of traumatic magic," he said pleadingly.

Ron's ears colored, but it was Hermione who answered, her voice low and almost-threatening. "He most certainly did."

Harry let out a bark of a laugh before he could stop himself, then bit down hard on his bottom lip to regain control. "I'm so sorry."

"I already apologized for him," Hermione muttered.

"I apologized, too!" Ron protested.

"Did he talk your ear off about Chudley?" Harry asked, watching with silent delight as Ron seemed to shrink into himself.

"The Cannons?" Mr. Granger asked.

"I'm taking that as a 'yes,'" Harry said with a grin. "It's his default for when he wants to look smart and impress someone."

"Savior of the world or not, I'm going to bloody murder you, Harry," Ron snarled despondently.

The first hint of a smile made its way onto Mr. Granger's face. "It was…oddly comforting, actually," he admitted, glancing at Ron with something like amusement. "At least sport is something I understand. It was nice to hear something familiar amid all the—" he gestured vaguely around the pub, his expression caught between bemusement and lingering apprehension. "—this."

Ron perked up immediately. "See? Told you it was a good conversation topic!" He shot Hermione a triumphant look, but she merely pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Yes, Ronald, discussing the Cannons' absolutely abysmal standings over the last century was exactly what my parents needed to hear," she said dryly.

Mr. Granger chuckled. "To be fair, it did put things into perspective," he said. "Apparently, being hopeless for decades on end isn't exclusive to the England football team."

Ron groaned dramatically. "Not you too! They're turning it around, I swear!"

Harry clapped him on the back, grinning. "Sure they are, mate. Sure they are."

"Is it me, or does everyone seem to be watching us?" Mrs. Granger asked, glancing nervously around the Leaky at the lingering customers. "Do you think they know we're…non-magical?"

"They probably know," Harry admitted, though at the Grangers' startled looks he tried for a joke. "Most wizards don't wear Muggle clothes very convincingly."

"They're more likely staring at the kids," Mr. Weasley said, though Harry felt "kids" was a bit dismissive. "These three have ended up in the papers quite a bit recently."

"So we were told," Mrs. Granger said, visibly relaxing, but still looking a bit wary. 

"I imagine it's a bit of a shock, first hearing about it and then, all of this here," Mr. Weasley said, gesturing vaguely to the surrounding pub. At that cue a few of the patrons raised their glasses in toast and a cheer of, "to Harry Potter!" 

Harry waved back meekly. He was looking forward to the day when that was just a memory.

"The news made it to Australia, but experiencing it here is rather different," Mr. Granger said. He gave Harry an appraising look. "You really…did all of what they said?"

Harry sighed, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. He hated being put on the spot like that. "Honestly it depends on what they're saying," he muttered, knowing exactly how much of a habit the British press had of distorting the truth. He could only imagine what might have made its way to the other side of the world. "The gist of it, I guess, is true enough. But I didn't do it alone. Everyone seems to keep forgetting that." He spared a fond glance at Ron and Hermione, fingers intertwined. "Hermione and Ron were with me every step of the way."

By then they had reached the Leaky's fireplace. Mr. Weasley explained the process, and assured them that, while startling, it was perfectly safe before demonstrating himself and vanishing into the green flames. The sudden explosion of fire drew sharp gasps from the Grangers and they looked ready to bolt.

"I think this—it's just too much—maybe," Mrs. Granger stammered, wringing the front of her blouse.

The anguish on Hermione's face was almost too much for him.

"Why don't you two take them for a stroll around the Alley," Harry suggested to Hermione, hoping that a bit of immersion might ease their nerves. "Bring them by George's shop—I know Ron's been wanting to stop by. I'll head to the Burrow and let everyone know you'll be a minute."

"You think bringing them to Britain's most magically-inventive joke shop is a good idea?" Ron asked.

Harry shrugged. "Fair enough. Maybe bring them to Flourish and Blotts or just grab a butterbeer from Hannah." He pointed to their former classmate by the bar, forgetting that he hadn't told them about her working at the Leaky.

"I didn't know she was working here," Hermione said, waving over at Hannah. 

"Until she starts healer training," he said with a nod, making a mental note to tell Hermione and Ron about some of the developments with their former classmates when they had a chance to catch up next.

"Fascinating," Hermione said. 

Harry was struck by an idea and turned to her parents. "If you're up for it I bet you could teach Hannah a bit about what you went through with the healers in Australia," he said with a shrug. "She'd probably appreciate your insight. I know she's been nervous about starting." He waved at Hannah too. "Have a few butterbeers and put it on my tab."

Ron's mouth dropped open. "You have a tab?" he asked incredulously. "I leave for a month and you start hanging out at pubs and opening tabs? Who are you?"

"It was the only way they'd let me pay for anything," Harry protested. 

"We're still best mates though, right?" Ron asked.

"Ginny may have mentioned making a play for that title while you were away," Harry teased.

Ron shook his head with a laugh. "Nah, mate, she's your girlfriend. Totally different."

Harry laughed along with him. "I'll let you two get that sorted. I'm staying out of it." He stepped into the Floo and grabbed a handful of powder, then stopped and turned back to Hermione's parents. "And look—if I can do this there's no reason you can't."

Then he vanished into a flash of emerald fire.

Back at the Burrow, Harry passed the time by joining Ginny and Teddy for tummy-time, stretching out on the floor beside them while Teddy gurgled and kicked happily. Meanwhile, Andi and Mrs. Weasley bustled around the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on dinner.

They had opted for a quieter gathering tonight. George and Percy were working late at the shop, Bill and Fleur had a date night planned, and Charlie was still spending several days at a time tracking the Ironbelly. Harry couldn't fathom how a dragon that large had managed to stay ahead of him for so long, but if anyone could handle it, it was Charlie.

Since Fridays were his and Ginny's usual dinners with Andi and Teddy, Harry had extended the invite to them as well.

He and Ginny took turns gently encouraging Teddy to lift his head and look side to side from one of them to the other. It was a relatively new development, but Teddy was quickly getting the hang of it. It had easily become one of Harry's favorite games; he loved the way Teddy's huge eyes went wide with the effort and his whole body shook as he rocked from one side to the next, each movement punctuated by a grunt of pint-sized exertion and a rippling of hair color. 

There were moments when his heart ached at the thought of Remus and Tonks never being able to experience this with Teddy, but then he would remind himself of that night in the forest—how the four spirits who had come to him had known exactly what he'd been going through. And then, in the quiet moments when he found himself alone with Teddy, he found himself talking just as much to Remus and Tonks as he did to the little boy.

Andi had walked in on him once and a strange look had crossed her face, some sort of cross between mourning and melancholia. But she'd said nothing and left him and Teddy to it.

It was a good half hour before the fireplace at the Burrow saw Ron, Hermione, and her parents stumbling out one-by-one, with Ron bringing up the rear. Harry thought that had been a brilliant idea; if they'd been left with just Hermione there was a non-zero chance that they'd chicken out and run home. But with Hermione going first that meant they had no other option.

A bit manipulative, but harmless, and brilliant all the same.

Ron pulled Harry aside as Mrs. Weasley went to greet the Grangers. "Great idea with the butterbeer," he said, nodding appreciatively. "And Hannah was a great help. She even convinced Hermione's dad to try Firewhiskey."

Harry glanced over at the Grangers, who were just a tad more flush than before and looking a bit more at ease around the magic of the Burrow.

"And?" he dared to ask. 

"Thought it was brilliant," Ron answered with a wide-eyed, disbelieving smirk on his face. "Loved the smoke coming out of his ears. Hermione had to stop him after two shots because he really was going to just keep drinking and laughing."

"That's good, right?" Harry asked.

"Better be," Ron said, with a look that seemed hopeful. "I think they like me well enough, but, you know it is…"

"I really don't," Harry admitted awkwardly. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had always doted on him.

"Lucky you," Ron muttered, rolling his eyes.

Harry ignored him. "I honestly don't even know when your folks learned about Ginny and I," he said. "They just seemed to know and be alright with it." 

Ron shook his head in disbelief. "You two were together for three weeks last year. I'm sure the whole Order knew by the end of that first day."

It was Harry's turn for an eye-roll. "Oh, please. Everyone had way bigger things to worry about."

"It's cute that you believe that so wholeheartedly," Ron said, patting him on the back.

Harry brushed Ron's hand away. "Well don't blame me that your parents are brilliant," Harry teased. "You should ask Ginny later how she was nervous for Andi's approval."

He shared in Ron's befuddlement as they made their way back to the kitchen, where Hermione was in the middle of re-introducing her parents to Ginny. He caught the tail end of a comment from Mr. Granger telling her how grateful they were that she'd been someone Hermione could confide in and vent to over the recent months.

"Of course," Ginny said, beaming. "Who else would we complain about the boys to?"

Ron shot him a perplexed look. "'Complain?' We don't complain about them."

Harry wasn't entirely sure this was true, but was saved from saying so when Ginny asked. "Well what's there to complain about ?"

Mr. Granger laughed loudly, and Harry could see Ron visibly relax. Even though Mrs. Granger still looked a bit green around the gills. 

"And who is this little one?" Mr. Granger asked, looking softly down at Teddy, still nestled in Ginny's arms.

Ginny adjusted her hold on him, smiling. "This is Teddy," she said.

Mr. Granger's gaze landed on Teddy, still nestled comfortably in Ginny's arms. He studied the baby, then glanced between Harry and Ginny, his expression shifting into something unreadable. "So…Hogwarts is really that progressive, then?"

Harry blinked, thrown. "Er—sorry?"

Mr. Granger cleared his throat, looking at Ginny before back at Harry. "It's just… Hermione mentioned Ginny would be returning to school in the fall. I was wondering how that would work—with a baby and all."

There was a beat of stunned silence.

Ginny stiffened, her arms instinctively tightening around Teddy. "Wait—what?"

Ron made a strangled noise that sounded like a mix between a cough and an incredulous laugh. "Oh, bloody hell!"

Hermione went pink. "Dad, no—"

Harry, feeling heat rush to his face, hurriedly shook his head. "Teddy's my godson."

Mrs. Granger grimaced and shook her head. "Oh, Wendell."

Mr. Granger's eyes widened slightly. "Ah. I see." He let out an awkward chuckle. "My mistake. He just looked so…at home there, I suppose. Looks rather a good bit like you both."

Andi chuckled lightly and made her way over to introduce herself. "No shame in that mistake," she said gently. "Little Teddy is a Metamorphmagus; he can change his appearance at will. Though right now it seems purely instinctual based on who he's looking at."

"Really?" Mrs. Granger asked.

Andi nodded, and a faraway look came over her face. "My daughter, Nymphadora—Teddy's mum—was one as well," she said softly. 

Harry felt his heart clench. It wasn't often that mentions of Tonks, Remus, or Fred came up without some warning. They were all supportive of one another when that happened, and were usually able to quickly turn the topic to happier memories. But that was harder to do with people who had never met them.

"'Was'? Oh," Mrs. Granger took a sharp breath. She looked around the room, seeming to take it in for the first time, and realizing that everyone there had just emerged from the other side of a war, experiencing all that entailed. 

Harry saw her stare at Hermione with an unreadable expression before turning back to Andi and swallowing hard.

"I—I'm so sorry," she said, shaking her head in disbelief. "I couldn't—I can't imagine." She glanced over her shoulder to where Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were sending plates, saucers, and silverware floating over to the table. "I heard…Ron's brother as well?"

Andi swallowed, her lips pressed together, and she nodded tightly. "We lost a lot of wonderful people," she said thickly. "Fred, Dora, her husband Remus…my—my Ted." 

A painfully uncomfortable silence stretched between the two, with Harry desperately wondering how he could change the topic. 

Andi's grief-stricken face softened, and she smiled. "It would be just Teddy and I if it weren't for Harry and the Weasleys," she said, giving a pointed nod over to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. "It's a remarkable lot your daughter fell in with."

Harry glanced at Mrs. Granger, watching as something in her expression shifted. Mrs. Granger's face softened as well. She nodded slowly and seemed to take in—really take in—the Burrow and its occupants for the first time. She stared long and hard at the way Mrs. Weasley fussed over Hermione, asking her all sorts of questions about the trip, whether she needed any help getting settled with her parents, whether Ron had behaved himself, whether she'd like Mr. Weasley to have someone from the Ministry to come by and make sure everything was settling right.

Harry saw the moment it happened, the way her shoulders loosened just slightly. Her gaze flicked to Mr. Weasley, who was hanging on to every word Mr. Granger said about airplanes, nodding enthusiastically as if he'd just uncovered the greatest mystery of Mugglekind.

And then her eyes landed on Harry.

He kept his focus on Teddy, wiggling his fingers over the baby's belly until he let out a delighted giggle, but he felt the weight of her gaze. He wondered what she saw—if it was just him, or if she saw all the ways he had been shaped by this place, by these people. He hoped, with everything he had in him, that she could see just how amazing the Weasleys were; just how amazing it was that Hermione and Ron had found each other.

"I'm beginning to realize that," she said quietly.

Ginny hadn't realized just how much she'd missed Ron and Hermione until they were both here again, seated at the Burrow's kitchen table like they belonged. It had only been a month, but it felt longer—like some part of the house had been off-kilter without them.

But tonight, things felt almost normal. Almost.

The difference sat across the table—Hermione's parents, stiff-backed and quiet, their hands resting tensely on the worn wooden surface. They were polite, even making small talk with her mum and dad, but Ginny could tell they were still uneasy, still adjusting to the fact that they were here, in a magical home, after everything that had happened.

Hermione, for her part, was doing most of the talking, filling the space with stories from Australia, as if trying to smooth over the awkwardness with sheer force of will. Ron, seated beside her, nodded along between bites of dinner, a little more subdued than usual. He hadn't once tried to talk with his mouth full. It wasn't perfect. But they were here, together. That had to count for something.

It was Andi and Teddy, however, that somehow were managing to keep the Grangers most at ease. She chalked it up to Andi's more refined mannerisms and familiarity with the Muggle world and Teddy being…well…Teddy. He was great at disarming tension. 

"As insensitive as it sounds," Andi said, clearing her throat carefully. "The spellwork Hermione used to give you new identities away from the war was really quite extraordinary." She gave Hermione a meaningful look. "It's the equivalent of a heart transplant. Performed by someone just out of secondary school."

"I…suppose we hadn't looked at it that way," Mrs. Granger said, giving Hermione a curiously-impressed look.

Andi nodded. "I don't imagine I would have either if I were in your position," she admitted. 

"I do wish we'd had a better understanding of what your world had been going through these last few years," Mr. Granger said, his brow furrowing. "We've discussed it quite at length now, but…well, we're not mad anymore, just…" He gave Hermione a helpless look.

"Worried," Mrs. Granger supplied, to which her husband nodded. 

"Well if it helps, we've sent seven children through Hogwarts now, and were worried about all of them," Mum said. "But the war spiraled out of control so quickly. It was all hood-and-hex for quite a while."

"Cloak and dagger," Andi supplied.  

Mum nodded. "We did our best to shield the children from it, but…" she looked at Dad rather pleadingly.

"Molly's brothers were involved in the first war, back in the seventies and eighties," he explained gently, taking her hand. "Gave their lives fighting against Voldemort's insanity. When he returned, well…he wanted Harry, and we were already quite fond of him."

Ginny spared Harry a look only to find his face coloring pink.

Dad continued. "It was already our fight," he said. "But having one of our children so deeply involved sealed it."

"And your family, Harry?" Mrs. Granger asked. "Hermione said you lived with your aunt and uncle?"

Harry paled and chewed his lip. Ginny knew that was still a sore subject for him. It had been nearly a year since he'd seen, spoken to, or heard from his aunt and uncle, and he'd shown no inclination to change that.

"The less said about them the better," he said simply. "They never liked me much."

"Well we like you well enough for the both of them," Ron said, his voice hard, and Ginny found her heart swelling with pride at her brother's protectiveness.

"Maybe it was better not knowing," Mrs. Granger said, shaking her head in disbelief. "Quite the timing this…Voldemort had."

Andi stifled a laugh. "Oh, don't worry. Dora found other ways to elevate my blood pressure," she said. "It's just how children are."

"Oh?" Mr. Granger asked.

Andi sighed heavily and gave Harry a pointed look. "She joined the Aurors. Just like this one is planning to."

"Oh, Ron had mentioned that," Mr. Granger said.

Ginny watched as Ron struggled to swallow down a huge mouthful of food in case he was called on to answer a question.

"They're like Bobbies, aren't they?" Mr. Granger asked him. 

Ron looked lost, and to be fair, Ginny was as well. Thankfully, Andi knew what they were talking about.

"Not quite. Aurors are more akin to MI5 or MI6," Andi explained, earning raised eyebrows from Hermione's parents. "They deal specifically with the investigation and capture of Dark Wizards."

Mr. Granger nodded thoughtfully. "You know quite a bit about society on…our side of things, Mrs. Tonks," he said.

"Please, call me Andromeda," she corrected gently. "You've watched my grandson spit up all over himself, I feel like we can dispense with the formalities." This earned her a chuckle from the Grangers. "My husband, Ted, was Muggleborn—like Hermione, and Harry's mother. So I learned quite a bit from him, and we spent a good deal of time in the Muggle world doing a medical Residency program." 

Hermione's parents were captivated by Andi's story and eagerly asked her countless questions about her experience—what it had been like not just to live in another country but to do so in its non-magical world while completing her medical training. They inquired about everything from the challenges of keeping her magical identity hidden to how her studies compared to traditional wizarding healing practices. Mrs. Granger, in particular, seemed fascinated by the notion that, despite all its advancements, wizarding medicine still had gaps that Muggle medicine could sometimes fill.

As the conversation continued, Mr. Granger leaned forward slightly, his tone hesitant. "Do you think that might be an option for Hermione?" he asked. "Continued education in the non-magical world isn't entirely uncommon, and Hermione is so…driven, I just…" He trailed off, his concern and hope evident in his expression.

Andi nodded thoughtfully. "Anyone who could make sense of Ted's research the way she has is clearly brilliant," she said. "But I suspect it will take too long to undo the regressive policies of the last twenty years for that to be a realistic option for her… at least in the same way it was for me."

She cast a quick glance at Teddy, her expression briefly softening before turning pensive again. "I'm hopeful for Teddy's generation, but we lost too many progressive voices in this war," she continued. "There are still some good ones, of course. Arthur here"—she nodded toward Mr. Weasley, making Ginny straighten with pride—"and Kingsley, our new Minister. Great men—fought on the right side even when all hope seemed lost." She then turned her gaze to Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. "But their generation will be the one to secure the changes needed to ensure something like this never happens again."

The Grangers were silent for a moment, exchanging long, contemplative looks before settling their gazes on the four of them.

"They've already accomplished what should have been impossible," Mr. Weasley said, his voice filled with gentle pride as he looked at Ginny just as much as he did Harry, Ron, and Hermione. "Far more than I would have been able to at their age—magic or not."

Dinner wound down on a far more comfortable note than it had begun. With the tension from earlier conversations lessened, Hermione's parents seemed more at ease, settling into the warmth of the Burrow's hospitality. At one point, they even insisted that everyone call them Wendell and Monica, a request that caught Ginny and Harry off guard. 

As the meal came to an end, Ron casually offered to help Hermione gather her things from Ginny's room the next day, so she could head straight home with her parents. Hermione shot him a grateful look, clearly touched by the gesture.

Andi, sensing the evening drawing to a close, bid everyone goodnight and left with Teddy, but not before extending an invitation to Hermione. "Harry mentioned you might be interested in some of Ted's old books. Feel free to stop by my study sometime," she said warmly.

When it was time for the Grangers to leave, they surprised everyone by agreeing to Apparate back to London with Ron and Hermione. It was a small but significant shift—one that spoke volumes about how much their perspective on magic had already begun to change.

With the house finally quiet again, Ginny, Harry, and Ron retreated to the orchard, settling around a small fire. The night was still and peaceful, the sky stretching vast and endless above them. They sat in comfortable silence, watching the stars flicker overhead, until the sound of footsteps announced Hermione's return.

The smile on Ron's face was almost blinding. "You're back!" he all but shouted.

Hermione settled on his lap and looped her arms around his neck as he snaked his arms around her waist. It was the closest Ginny had the two of them sitting, and she realized just how much her brother had grown up for Hermione's sake. He was nothing like the berk that had gone out with Lavender Brown to prove a point.

"It's been a long time since it was just the four of us," Hermione said, tracing some complicated pattern over Ron's shirt with her finger. Ginny was struck by the intimacy of that gesture, along with how right it felt to be referred to as "the four of us."

Ron shot her and Harry a teasing look. "That's her way of saying she missed me," he said pointedly. "She just didn't want to make you two feel left out."

"We know," Ginny said, smirking at Ron's startled look. He had clearly expected her to tease him. But she was suddenly feeling the urge to one-up his grownup-ness. She supposed that was a step in the right direction.

"We really missed you guys," Harry said.

Feeling daring, Ginny rose from her chair and made her way to Harry's, settling across his lap in a similar fashion to Hermione and Ron. She half expected Ron to protest, but he said nothing. Instead, Ron just grinned at her and Harry fondly before shaking his head with a chuckle.

Ginny watched as he pressed a quick kiss to Hermione's hair, something so natural and unselfconscious that it made her stomach flip. She glanced at Harry, who was watching her with quiet amusement, his arms tightening around her waist as if to say, I don't mind this at all.

"I can't believe the two of you are going to live at Grimmauld Place come Autumn…with George," Hermione said, shaking her head. "And you have a decorator."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Andi has a decorator," he insisted. "I have an Andi."

"And yet he refuses to call the woman his aunt," Ginny teased, flicking him on the nose. 

"It's presumptuous—I haven't even known her two months yet!"

"Call the woman your aunt!" Ron said with a scoff. "Your actual aunt is a piece of work and you bloody well deserve one." 

"And you, Ginny?" Hermione asked. They'd kept mostly to surface-level things with her parents, not wanting to have to broach the "how are you handling your lingering trauma" topics at their first magical-family dinner.

"Doing pretty well," Ginny said. And she realized, happily, that she was. "Still running Quidditch drills with Demelza, but we've started meeting Luna and the girls for Defense tutoring with Harry and Fleur."

"Do you mind if I join you next time?" Hermione asked. Harry and Ron turned to stare at her in surprise, but she ignored them. "I'm hoping Cora and Anya might not mind a third study-partner. It's been a while since my sixth year."

"For a minute you had me worried there," Ron teased. "I know you take schooling seriously, but I didn't think even you would feel the need to revise for Defense after the year we've had."

"But once hearing it was revising for the rest of her classes, too…" Harry trailed off.

"Oh bugger off," Hermione scoffed, hiding her face in Ron's collar.

Ginny burst out laughing, and soon Harry was joining her. "There's Ron's horrible influence."

"Ron's been wonderful," Hermione said softly. And Ginny was touched by her thoughtful, genuine defense of her brother.

"I have been pretty great," Ron agreed teasingly, though it only earned him a half-hearted smack on the chest. He grinned. "If you wouldn't mind another tag-a-long, I could probably stand to get in some more practice before Auror training."

She felt Harry sit up straighter beneath her. "Yeah?" he asked, excitedly. "That sounds brilliant. Fleur's a great dueler, but this way we'd have something to do while they did their lesson."

They all fell silent at that, a comfortable quiet stretching between them. The fire crackled softly, and the night air was warm, filled with the sounds of summer. The four of them had been through hell and back, but somehow, they had made it here—together.

Ginny rested her head against Harry's chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It was strange, she thought, how a moment so simple could feel like everything.

Chapter Text

July 12, 1998

The Burrow was already buzzing with morning activity. Breakfast had been a lively, if somewhat rushed, affair. With George having ducked out early to open the shop and Percy once again staying at his flat in London—he'd been doing that a lot lately, seeming stretched thin in a way Ginny couldn't quite place—it was just Dad, Mum, Harry, Ron, and Ginny left at the table.

Charlie, on the other hand, was upstairs, likely still dead to the world. He had arrived home just after dawn, looking absolutely haggard but triumphant, muttering something about successfully tracking the Gringotts dragon before stumbling upstairs to collapse in bed. Ginny had wanted to ask him more, but he barely made it through a sentence before exhaustion won out.

Just as she was about to get up and clear her plate, a sharp tap-tap-tap against the kitchen window caught her attention.

An owl.

Ginny's stomach did a little flip as she realized the date. Mid-July. That could only mean one thing: Hogwarts letters. Or, more specifically, Hogwarts letter . Singular. Her's.

Mum wiped her hands on her apron before hurrying over to unlatch the window. The owl fluttered inside, depositing a bundle of letters onto the table before taking off again without waiting for a response. Mum sorted quickly through the stack, plucking out the Hogwarts envelope and handing it to her.

Ginny's fingers closed around her own, her heartbeat picking up slightly as she cracked open the seal. The usual welcome-back formalities were there, and then—

Her breath caught as the silver badge tumbled out of the envelope.

Quidditch Captain.

"Well?" Mum prompted, watching her closely.

Ginny looked up, barely able to contain her excitement. "I'm Captain."

Mum let out a soft sound—something between pride and nostalgia. Dad beamed at her from across the table. "That's my girl," he said warmly, lifting his teacup in a small toast. "Another Weasley leading the Gryffindor team."

Ginny grinned, running her fingers over the badge's smooth surface. It was real. It was happening. The past year had been spent fighting—first against the Carrows, then in the Battle—but this was a piece of normalcy she had desperately wanted back.

Before she could tuck the letter away, something else slipped free from the folded parchment, landing softly on the table. Another badge.

She blinked.

It wasn't silver. It was red and gold, the embossed letters shining in the morning light.

Head Girl.

For a long moment, Ginny just stared at it. She must have understood it wrong, but checked the accompanying letter.

Dear Miss Weasley,

I am pleased to inform you that you have been selected to serve as Head Girl of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for the upcoming academic year.

Your leadership within Gryffindor House, as well as your resilience and courage during recent difficult times, has not gone unnoticed. It is my firm belief that you will serve the school well in this position.

As Head Girl, you will share responsibility for overseeing the prefects of all four houses and will be expected to coordinate with the Head Boy on matters concerning student conduct and school events. Your first official duties will include a meeting on the Hogwarts Express and an orientation briefing upon arrival.

Please report to the Prefects' Compartment on the train and be prepared to remain after the feast for further instruction.

Congratulations again on this well-deserved honor.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Headmistress

She hadn't even thought about the possibility. Not once. Sure, she had taken up leading Dumbledore's Army with Neville, but that had never been about leading , just fighting back. She'd never thought of it as a badge of honor; something to brag about. She'd been doing her part, protecting her peers when it seemed that no one else could.

But her name was there. Clear as day.

"Ginny?" Mum's voice broke through her daze, and she looked up, still gripping the badge as if it might disappear.

"Something else in your letter?" Dad asked absently, sipping from his teacup.

Ginny swallowed hard, turning the badge around so they could see. It felt heavy and rough in her hands; like there were far too many edges and ridges for something so small and smooth. 

Mum gasped. "Oh, Ginny!"

"You're joking." Ron sounded like someone had just told him she'd been appointed Minister for Magic.

Harry, on the other hand, grinned. "Brilliant."

Dad was looking at her with quiet pride, his eyes shining, while Mum rushed forward, cupping Ginny's face in her hands. "My baby girl," she murmured, then let out a watery laugh. "Head Girl and Quidditch Captain?"

"Guess McGonagall's lost her mind," Ginny muttered, still trying to process it.

Mum ignored her, already wiping at the corners of her eyes. "Oh, we'll have to let your brothers know! A third Head in the family! Bill, Percy, and now you, too!"

Ginny shook her head, dazed. Head Girl. What did that even mean? She thought back to her time under the Carrows, to her time coordinating Dumbledore's Army. That had been leadership, in a way, but nothing like this. Not in an official capacity. She didn't even know what she was supposed to be doing as Head Girl.

"It's well deserved," Dad said, and his voice was steady, certain. "You led your friends through the worst year Hogwarts has ever seen. It makes perfect sense to me."

Ginny let out a slow breath, turning the badge over in her palm. Maybe. Maybe it did. But it had been the absolute last thing she had been expecting; the last thing she'd even been thinking about. Gryffindor Quidditch Captain? Sure—the only one who could maybe argue for a claim was Demelza, but Ginny had always been the more serious player of the two, she'd played longer, and had experience in multiple positions. She'd always felt confident in that outcome. 

It felt daunting …and she'd just fought in a war.

"Hermione's gonna have a rough go with that," Ron muttered under his breath. He let out a heavy sigh. "I know for certain she was hoping for it." 

"You don't think Ginny deserves it?" Harry asked, sounding almost insulted on her behalf.

Though a warm feeling flooded through her with Harry's protectiveness, she couldn't help but think Hermione might have been the better choice. Hermione had been a prefect for two years. She knew what was expected, what the roles entailed. 

"I didn't even know you could be Head Girl and Quidditch Captain," Ginny protested.

Harry shook his head. "I think my dad was," he said, frowning Ron's way. "If you think Ginny can't , she—"

"Easy, mate, that's not it at all," Ron said, trying to reassure them. "I think we're all a bit shocked, right? I just…I know how much it would've meant to Hermione, finishing her time at Hogwarts as Head Girl." He carded a hand through his hair. "Just…keep that in mind when you see her next, yeah? She'll probably be having a rough go, alright?"

Ginny chewed her lip as Harry grimaced and nodded. 

Dad's voice cut through in that carefully measured way it always seemed to when Weasley emotions ran high. "All the same," he began slowly, letting all the attention pull towards him. 

Despite his usual relaxed and carefree demeanor, Ginny knew her father was an incredible leader. And now that she was looking , she was starting to notice why . 

"We can be sensitive to Hermione's feelings without diminishing Ginny's accomplishment," Dad said. He gave her a proud smile. "Minerva would not have chosen you if she didn't think you were right for the role. You helped lead your peers through the most trying and dangerous year the school has ever seen."

Ginny grimaced. She might have helped reform Dumbledore's army, but after Easter—after Ron had been found out by the Malfoys—she had been forced to join her family in hiding and abandon the school. "I left though," Ginny muttered.

"But you came back when it mattered most. As much as I hated it," Mum said, giving Ginny a look that seemed to mix pride and regret. "Head Boy, Head Girl…they need to be someone who is willing to stand up for what's right—to know what's right—and stand up for their peers even when it's hardest. And you did that, Ginny. You've been acting as Head Girl for a while now, we just didn't realize it."

Ginny breathed out a sigh, still struggling to accept the praise and the pressure. She could accept all the Quidditch accolades and applause thrown her way, but this felt…different; deeper. Like someone was shining a light on her most difficult moments and telling the whole world how wonderful she was for overcoming them. It was wildly uncomfortable…and she finally understood why Harry always shrank from such praise.

"It's going to be a difficult year, Ginny," Dad said softly, leaning over his teacup. "Everything the students went through. All that pain, that fear. Those children—they're not children anymore, not entirely." There was a pain in his voice that Ginny had heard before but couldn't quite place. "There's an entire year of students who only know Hogwarts as it was under Voldemort. And there are even more who don't know how things can possibly go back to the way they were. I think," and at this he met her gaze and swallowed hard, "I think you know something about what that's like. You know what it's like to claw your way out of that place. Who else could Minerva possibly trust to help the rest do the same?"

Ginny had no response to that. She wanted to deny it, but her parents had made convincing arguments. It was guilt, though, that gnawed at her; a feeling that she could have— should have—done more. She didn't want that kind of recognition; she didn't want that to be the reason for it. Because every time someone did, all she could think about was the ways she'd come up short.

She glanced over at Harry and found him watching her with that quiet, contemplative look he often wore. For years she had wished she could tell exactly what he was thinking when he wore that look. But now, suddenly, she felt it was perfectly clear: guilt— again —for surviving when others hadn't, for doing all that he could but still not doing enough. For the first time she really felt like she could understand his life.

"I think I got my first taste of Harry-Guilt," she muttered under her breath, meeting his gaze. He gave her a curious look and she continued. "Knowing you were totally overwhelmed when everything was happening, just struggling to keep your head above water; but still feeling like it wasn't enough when everything was over."

Ron snorted. "She's got you pegged, mate." He glared teasingly between them. "Now we just gotta make sure you don't both send each other spiraling down the Harry-Guilt abyss."

Harry huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "No promises."

Ginny exhaled, rubbing her thumb over the embossed letters on the badge one last time before setting it carefully beside her Quidditch Captain badge. Her stomach still felt twisted up, but there wasn't much else to say.

Instead, she reached for her letter again and pulled out the book list. "Alright, let's see what Seventh Year has in store." She flattened the parchment against the table, and Ron and Harry leaned in to read over her shoulder.

The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 7, by Miranda Goshawk
A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration, by Emeric Switch
Advanced Potion-Making, by Libatius Borage
A Practical Guide for Advanced Defense, Garrick Rathborne
An Advanced Guide to Charms, by Callidora Pendraig
The Decline of Pagan Magic, by Bathilda Bagshot
A Revised History of the Wizarding World, by Bathilda Bagshot
Power and Responsibility: Leadership in the Wizarding World, by Darrius Umber
The Consequences of Control: A Study of Oppression in Magical History, by Elara Fairbourne
Beyond Wandlore: Understanding Muggle Ingenuity, by Dr. Geoffrey Hastings
Bridging the Divide: The Interwoven Histories of Muggle and Magical Societies, by Camilla Wentworth
Advanced Studies in Magical Beasts, by Newt Scamander 

Ron whistled appreciatively. "I see the professors aren't taking it easy on anyone just 'cause the school was a war zone."

Harry nodded in agreement. "Professor McGonagall probably wants to make sure everyone's actually prepared, though. A lot of people missed a proper year of school."

Ginny skimmed down the list, making note of the new additions. Some of the usual textbooks were there, but there were also a few titles she'd never heard of before—ones on magical ethics and leadership, another on the intersection between muggle and magical societies. 

She frowned. "Well it's a lot of newer books," Ginny muttered.

"Bit of a theme for some of them," Ron pointed out dryly. "What N.E.W.T.s are you taking?"

"Charms, Defense, History of Magic, Potions, Transfiguration, Care of Magical Creatures, and Muggle Studies," Ginny answered quickly. Aside from Defense (which hadn't been taught at all the prior year) she'd done passingly well…or at least as well as could be expected when engaging in rebellion. She hadn't wanted to bury herself in schoolwork, but McGonagall had pulled her aside at the beginning of the year and explained that the more classes she took with trusted professors the less access the Carrows and their cronies would have to her. 

One of her free periods just happened to line up with History of Magic, and the Carrows apparently felt that was misery enough.

The rest of her professors had worked non-stop throughout the year, offering additional tutoring periods for all years to participate in. They'd taken a gentler approach to teaching, offering more encouragement and direct instruction than she was used to seeing due to the amount of time they were spending with the students. She felt like she had grown to really know and understand her professors as people .

"At least some of these are the usual fare," she said. "Still using the same Transfiguration, Potions, and Charms texts."

Dad hummed in thought. "Bet we still have the Grade 7 book around somewhere as well."

Ginny nodded thoughtfully. Any other year she would have felt an irk of annoyance at having to use another old, worn, falling-apart textbook; but oddly it lent her some comfort, a feeling of connection to her siblings who had carried that book with them.  

"I don't think we even bothered to open our letters," Harry said softly as he glanced over her shoulder at the booklist. "Well…maybe Hermione did."

Ginny was just about to ask her father about where the Grade 7 book might be hidden when a loud crack sounded from just beyond the Burrow's wards, the unmistakable snap of Apparition.

"That'll be Hermione," Ron said, already pushing his chair back and heading toward the door. But he stopped before opening. He turned back and gave Ginny a fond look. "I'm proud of you, Ginny. I might have to play the comforting boyfriend for a bit, but…I just wanted you to know."

Ginny felt a swell of fondness for her brother at that moment. She smiled and nodded to the door. "Go walk your girlfriend in."

She straightened, rolling her shoulders, forcing herself to push aside the nerves still curling in her stomach. She had a feeling this conversation was going to be a difficult one.

The back door swung open a few moments later. Ron and Hermione entered, Hermione looking slightly windblown and still clutching her own Hogwarts letter in one hand. 

"Morning," she said, smiling tightly as she stepped inside. Then, catching the looks being sent her way, she frowned slightly. "What?"

Ron cleared his throat. "Er—let's get some tea on, yeah?"

Hermione gave her parents a quick greeting then squeezed by Harry to whisper to Ginny, "Do you know what everyone seems so worried about?"

"We…are worried about how you might react to not being Head Girl," Ginny admitted.

Hermione's jaw clicked shut with an audible click . "Oh," she muttered. "I'll admit, I'm disappointed. I had only hoped of course, but I'd had so many ideas of what I wanted to accomplish this year that—wait, how did you…?"

Ginny forced a smile, though she knew it probably didn't reach her eyes. She wasn't sure how to say it—how to tell Hermione something that, by all rights, shouldn't have been true.

Instead, she simply turned and reached for her own Hogwarts letter still resting on the table. Hermione's gaze followed the movement, brow furrowing slightly as Ginny slipped a hand into the envelope and pulled out the gleaming gold and crimson badge.

Hermione stilled.

For a long second, she didn't say anything, just stared at the badge sitting in Ginny's palm. Then, ever so slightly, she blinked. " Oh ," she said pointedly.

Ginny swallowed and fidgeted in her seat. "Yeah."

Hermione's fingers tightened around her letter, her knuckles whitening for the briefest moment before she forced them to relax. "I see."

Ron, who had busied himself flicking on the kettle, turned back toward her, trying for an easy grin. "Bit of a surprise, huh?"

Hermione let out a short breath, something not quite a laugh but not far from it. "That's one word for it."

Ginny shifted uncomfortably. "Hermione, I—"

But Hermione was already shaking her head. "It's fine, really," she said, voice perfectly even. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. I wasn't exactly a student last year, was I? And it was terribly presumptuous of me, wasn't it? Arrogant even. Ugh, it's embarrassing."

Harry, who had been quiet until now, stepped forward. "You were more than a student, Hermione. That counts for something."

Hermione let out another one of those half-laughs, pressing her lips together. 

Mum, who had been watching the exchange carefully, finally spoke up. "Oh, sweetheart," she said gently. "I'm so sorry."

Hermione waved her off, though Ginny could see the tightness in her jaw and movements. "It's fine, really. It makes sense, when you think about it."

Ron's eyebrows shot up. "It does?"

Ginny, for the first time, found her voice. "It does," she agreed, though the words tasted strange in her mouth.

Hermione looked at her, and Ginny could almost feel her trying to decide whether to be insulted or hear her out. Finally, after a long, tense moment of violent internal turmoil, the tightness in her face eased.

Ginny shifted in her seat, adjusting her grip on the badge. "You didn't come up with my class, Hermione. And…" She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "You weren't at Hogwarts last year. It would make you an outsider in a position of authority, and that's not what the students need right now."

Hermione's brow furrowed, but she didn't argue.

Ron still looked unconvinced. "That's stupid," he said flatly.

Harry, who had been quiet through most of this, finally spoke. "They're probably thinking about stability. Someone the younger students already know and trust."

Hermione nodded slowly, as if she was just now allowing herself to consider the reasoning. "Maybe," she murmured.

Mum reached over, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "If you ask me, dear, you don't need the title to prove anything. You've already been a leader."

Dad, who had been sipping his tea quietly, finally set down his cup and leaned forward. "Exactly," he said. "Becoming Head Girl or Head Boy is about being what the school needs you to be." 

He leaned forward, tenting his fingers. "I'd wager that Headmistress McGonagall," Ginny noted his careful use of her official title, "believes Ginny is who the student body needs as their Head Girl this year. She knows better than anyone else what it is like to have been at the mercy of dark wizards for a full year," he said. "And that makes her uniquely equipped to recognize those who need the most help." 

Ginny felt Harry take her hand. "She's always been good at getting me out of a mood," he said. "I've been told I'm an especially broody git."

"I've seen how she gets you out of a mood, mate. I don't think you want her doing that for everyone at the school."

"Ron, how can you say that about your sister," Mum scolded with a frown.

Hermione hummed. "Maybe," she muttered, frowning thoughtfully. Some of the tightness had left her posture. 

Dad gave Hermione a pointed look. "You have a strong drive to accomplish tremendous things," he said admiringly. "But that makes it harder to catch some of the nuances; the subtle, personal details that end up being the more meaningful pieces." He leaned back and drummed his fingers across the table. "Now—maybe—it's time to learn how to follow…while figuring out what kind of leader you're going to be when you're out there ." He gestured to the fields and the world outside their window.

Ron scoffed. "That's ridiculous. Hermione doesn't need to learn that."

But Hermione tilted her head slightly, lips pursed in thought. "Maybe I do," she said softly.

Ginny exchanged a glance with Harry.

For the first time, Hermione looked…not quite okay, but at least not entirely crushed.

And for that, Ginny was grateful.

Before the silence could stretch too long, Mum clapped her hands together. "Well, I suppose we'd better start thinking about Diagon Alley. Best to go before the rush."

Hermione straightened, shaking off whatever disappointment still lingered. "Yes, of course."

Diagon Alley was crowded.

Ginny had been here plenty of times since the war ended, but today was different. The usual shoppers were still around—haggling witches, bustling clerks, and the occasional bored-looking wizard flipping through a Prophet outside a shop, but there were more families and young people than usual for the mid-morning.

Student-aged kids filled the alley, trailing behind parents or gathering in groups. She spotted Hogwarts letters and book lists being passed around and marked off as they made their way through their shopping list. The first proper school year since the war was about to begin, and it was clear that more students than expected were returning. Families who had fled. Muggle-borns who had been locked out. Older students who were coming back to finish their education.

Ginny adjusted her grip on her bag, scanning the crowd. The air hummed with a mixture of excitement and unease—people eager for a return to normal, but uncertain what normal even meant now. The image of her new Head Girl badge sitting on her desk back home 

A familiar voice cut through the noise.

"OI, WEASLEY!"

Ginny turned just as Demelza Robins jogged up, grinning widely. "Tell me you got it," she said breathlessly. " Captain Weasley, right?"

She suppressed a smug grin of her own and nodded quickly, but then pulled Demelza aside and quickly explained what had happened earlier with the Head Girl badge and some of the details of the following conversations.

Demelza's eyes went wide. "Head Girl and Quidditch Captain. Merlin, help us all," she said. She gave Hermione a once-over. "And Granger's alright?"

Ginny followed her gaze and nodded carefully. "She says she is. But I know she's also pretty disappointed and feeling all sorts of ways about it," she admitted. "I'm trying to give her some space."

"Well don't let shit fester," Demelza said pointedly. "You're going to want some prefects to have your back rather than trying to stab it."

Ginny groaned dramatically, slumping against Demelza. "I just wanted to play Quidditch. What did I ever do to deserve this?"

Demelza snorted loudly, drawing curious looks from Harry, Ron, and Hermione, and a sharp glare from Mum. "Are you kidding? After the year we've had?"

Ginny stopped suddenly. "You're right," she said. A grin split her face and she laughed. "This is the most mind-numbingly normal problem we've had in a year and it's the biggest real problem in my life right now. And we already know how it's going to end: she and I are going to give each other the cold shoulder for a bit; maybe snap at each other once or twice, before we realize how stupid it is that we're taking it out on each other because we both know she'd know what to do with being Head Girl, and then I just do whatever she tells me to do because I just want to play Quidditch!"

Demelza looped her arm around Ginny's and pulled her close as they walked through the Alley. "Exactly!" she said. "Give her a few days to realize it, too, and then you can both skip the worst parts."

Ginny thought that was an excellent idea, and as soon as she had the opportunity, she suggested heading into Flourish and Blotts to pick up the new textbooks, which seemed to put some extra pep in Hermione's step. But while she had thought Diagon Alley was crowded before, nothing could have prepared her for the mass of people crowded around the usual Hogwarts-letter shops.

Witches and wizards in deep navy robes, the gleaming badge of the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol pinned to their chests, stood at key intersections, their gazes sweeping over the crowd. Some lingered outside shop entrances, speaking in low tones with proprietors, while others patrolled the main thoroughfare, eyes sharp beneath the brims of their hats. A few had stationed themselves near Gringotts, watching the steady stream of customers moving in and out.

She noted, however, that rather than the heavy-browed scowl of Voldemort's enforcers that had filled the Alley all last year, or the cruel, narrow-eyed smirk of some pure-blood ponce who thought he was better than everyone else around, these patrol wizards and witches seemed warmer and more approachable. They were more relaxed than she'd seen them be in ages. They made polite conversation with witches and wizards walking by, offering gentle smiles and polite nods to younger children.

Ginny glanced to her right, where Harry was deep in conversation with Ron and Hermione, motioning every so often to a new location and whispering pointedly about something or other. She couldn't hear what he was saying, but she found herself realizing that she was seeing—for the first time—the way the three of them went about figuring out their place in the world.

And she realized something else; Harry was a much better listener than he was a talker, but when he talked it meant something because he'd spent so much more time listening. He could say something and then send Ron and Hermione off on an entirely new track. 

He was a Seeker. He watched and he listened. So he recognized all the things about the Alley, the patrol wizards, and the people that she did. Except instead of attributing so much of the change to his own actions—the way so many others were—she already knew, from the easy smile on his face, that he was attributing the peace to people like Fred, like Remus, like Tonks, and like Collin.

Ginny felt a surge of overwhelming affection for him roll through her. She reached for his hand and he took hers without breaking stride, or seemingly even realizing it. 

As they weaved through the crowds, Ginny found herself glancing at the patrol officers every so often, their presence a reminder that while the war had ended. The Ministry clearly wasn't taking any chances—not with the trials looming, not with so many Hogwarts students and their families flooding the alley for school supplies.

Hogwarts had been a symbol, a bridge between the past and the future. That was why Voldemort had wanted it. But now it meant something else entirely. It was freedom; it was the place Voldemort had fallen . It was the place where they'd decided that their future was more important than the past.

Their group reached Flourish and Blotts, and Ginny was relieved to step inside, away from the crowds and into something that might be a little more secure. The bookstore was packed, filled with chattering students clutching Hogwarts letters and combing through shelves for their required texts. The scent of parchment and ink filled the air, mingling with the musty, familiar smell of old books. It felt normal .

"Blimey," Ron muttered, craning his neck to look at the line snaking toward the counter. "Everyone got the same idea, then?"

"Looks that way," Ginny murmured. She ran her fingers along the spines of a row of new textbooks, her eyes scanning the fresh titles on magical ethics and leadership. 

"I'll go try the Defense and Charms texts," Demelza volunteered before whispering to Ginny. "And I'll see if I can suss out who might be Head Boy."

Ginny grimaced. She hadn't even thought about that. The Head Boy was going to be just as important to the re-normalizing of Hogwarts as she was; someone she'd be partnered with, her equal in the eyes of the school. Who could even be Head Boy? Most of their social leaders last year had been Seventh Years—Harry's classmates; she'd just breached that inner circle because she was a Weasley and Harry Potter's "ex-girlfriend." 

"Hey, I'm on it," Demelza assured, as if reading her fears on her face, and she slipped off into the crowd, waving at someone Ginny couldn't quite see.

Ginny wandered through the store with Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Mum, scanning over stacks of books for her Muggle Studies texts. She thankfully didn't have to look far. Several of the books on her list were special-ordered, with stacks piled to the ceiling several times over. There apparently wasn't usually this hot a market for "Power and Responsibility: Leadership in the Wizarding World," "The Consequences of Control: A Study of Oppression in Magical History," "Beyond Wandlore: Understanding Muggle Ingenuity," and "Bridging the Divide: The Interwoven Histories of Muggle and Magical Societies."

Who would have guessed?

As Ginny scanned the aisles for Demelza—and for her textbooks, of course, if her mother asked—her eyes landed on a small group of Slytherin students clustered near the Magical Theory section; some familiar, others only vaguely so. They stood a little apart from the rest, speaking in hushed tones, their expressions guarded. A few glanced around as if expecting confrontation, while others avoided eye contact altogether. Ginny felt a flicker of tension rise in her chest—not fear, exactly, but a bristling. 

Last year's battle lines hadn't vanished with summer. They'd just been pushed beneath the surface, waiting for school to begin again. There had been overt Slytherin favoritism, even for students whose families were not steadfastly aligned with the Death Eaters…or were Death Eaters themselves. If they weren't outright participating in it, they were at the very least benefiting from the Voldemort regime.

McGonagall wouldn't make one of them Head Boy, would she?

She felt her whole body seize up, her heart hammering in her chest, and she fought the overwhelming urge to duck behind the nearest pile of books and start throwing curses.

There was a sudden pressure in her hand—steady, grounding—and Ginny found herself able to suck in a breath. The noise of the shop pressed in on her from all sides, too loud, too chaotic. Voices blurred into a hum, laughter sounded too sharp, and the rustle of pages felt like a thousand whispers at once. Her chest tightened, and then, gently, someone tugged her into the narrow gap between two bookstacks. The din dulled immediately, 

The world tumbled back into focus and she found herself staring into Harry's bright green eyes. 

"I saw them, too," he said quietly, wiping a thumb down her cheek. And only then did she realize she'd been crying. "Were they…?"

Ginny shook her head. "Not specifically, no," she answered what had been unspoken. "But just because they didn't help, it doesn't mean they didn't enjoy what the Carrows and all their junior Death Eaters were doing."

"Gin, I—"

"They're buying books , Harry," she hissed, staring holes through the stacks in front of her. "That means they're coming back to Hogwarts this year. That means McGonagall's okay with it."

Harry was silent for a moment; his green eyes bore into hers with that same inscrutable gaze he wore when he was consumed by confronting a particularly difficult problem. His Seeker's eyes. And he was watching her to see which way she flew.

"Dumbledore believed in helping people find their way back to the light if they still had a chance," Harry said softly, one hand on her cheek and the other wrapped in hers. "I think McGonagall does, too. Or at least she wants to. Because it was one of his best qualities; something that set him apart from everyone else who'd ever had that much power; a belief in mercy."

"Doesn't mean I have to," Ginny spat angrily. 

Harry nodded his head. "No, it doesn't."

Merlin, he was infuriating. "But you're going to tell me I'll be better off—or maybe I'll feel better —if I just 'open up my heart and let it go and be nice ,' right?" 

Of course that's what he was saying. It's what anyone with sense would say; if they wanted to encourage her to get through this next year they'd tell her to keep her head down, be the bigger woman, and ignore everything that had happened. Focus on her friends, her classes, and Quidditch.

But Harry shook his head. "No. I'm not. Because I want to hex them, too," he admitted. "Thinking about how maybe—even if they didn't hurt anyone specifically—they just watched and laughed, as people I love suffered? And I wasn't even there to see it." He shook his head fiercely and then took both of her hands with his. 

"If you tell me we're going back out there and stringing them up by their robes then I'm with you," he said. "If you tell me they deserve that, I'll believe you. And I'll fight anyone who tries to tell us differently."

Ginny let out a snort. "You'd start another war right here in this bookshop."

"For you I would," Harry said, his voice quiet but as sure as she'd ever heard him before. 

The declaration sent a torrent through her. Something primal and terrifying; a feeling of belonging and being belonged-to. She was suddenly aware of the silence around them in the tucked away little stack; the emptiness of everything except the two of them.

"I believe you," she whispered back, having never taken her gaze from his green eyes. She let out a heavy sigh. "Which is why I'm going to behave myself. Can you imagine what Mum would say if I let you get in a fight?"

"It wouldn't be pretty," Harry said, nodding in agreement. "Your mum can be pretty terrifying when she wants to be."

Ginny grinned and leaned against him. "Thanks, Harry," she said. 

"Anytime," he whispered back.

She groaned. "Until I go back to school, then I'll have to wait for your letters to talk me off the edge," she muttered. 

A shrewd look fell across his face. "I'm working on that, too."

Ginny scoffed. "Your 'Dumbledore' needs work," she said, shaking her head. "You have the look and the tone right, but your word choice needs a lot of work. He was much more vague."

"Have a lot of vague conversations with Dumbledore, did you?" Harry chuckled.

Ginny fixed him with a pointed look. "Someone certainly thinks highly of themselves," she said wryly. "Most of us only had vague conversations with Dumbledore."

Harry rolled his eyes teasingly. "I think he was more direct than most people realized," Harry said. "If you knew what to listen for."

Ginny snapped her fingers and pointed. "Now that was a good Dumbledore. Perfectly worded. Really well done."

He nudged her playfully. "Feel up to leaving this little alcove and rejoining the world yet?" Harry asked.

"Maybe," Ginny said. She  looped her arms over his neck and pulled him close. "But this does bring back memories of some of our time in the library."

Harry grinned. "Except I don't have my invisibility cloak this time, so it'll be much easier for us to get caught."

"Why, Mr. Potter, what ever are you suggesting?" she said, quirking an eyebrow. 

But before Harry could respond, Demelza's voice rang out.

"Well there you two are," she said, stumbling into view through the stacks. She eyed their precarious positioning. "Am I interrupting anything?"

"Not yet," she heard Harry mutter under his breath, and Ginny couldn't help but swat his arm playfully. "Is everyone worried?"

"Worried, why? What did I miss?" Demelza asked. "No, I just wanted to let you know I found out who is Head Boy." She shot a grin Ginny's way. "It's Gareth Croft. Hufflepuff. Decent bloke. Nice. Just a bit… puffy ." 

" Puffy ?" Ginny asked, brow furrowed.

Demelza just shrugged. "Back up though, are people worried about you? I just thought you had snuck off to snog your boyfriend. What happened?"

New books in hand, they squeezed their way out of the ever-crowding bookshop and returned to the only slightly-less-crowded streets of Diagon Alley. They passed by familiar storefronts, some thriving, some still bearing the scars of the war. Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes stood proudly among them, newly repainted and filled with stacks of products. Ginny spotted George through the glass, deep in conversation with Lee and Dean Thomas and briefly considered popping in, but the half-screeching crowd of younger students convinced her otherwise.

Demelza left them after a sudden glance at her watch and a curse under her breath that her mum would be fuming if she were any later arriving home than she already was.

Further down, they paused in front of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour , where a sign hung in the window reading "Returning Soon." The shop was still dark inside, its tables and counters covered in protective sheets, but the sight of the sign made Ginny smile.

"Nice to see something coming back," she mused.

Harry hummed in agreement, though his gaze had already drifted elsewhere. Ginny followed his line of sight to the display over Janus Galloglass: Enchanted Mirrors & Arcane Reflections . Harry had stopped walking altogether, his eyes locked on shop. He wasn't frowning, exactly, but his expression had tightened in that way Ginny recognized—deep in thought, lost in some feeling he hadn't yet put into words. She considered asking what he was thinking but decided against it, simply stepping a little closer so their shoulders brushed. If he wanted to say something, he would.

They had just started moving again when Mum abruptly threw out an arm across Ginny's chest, halting her mid-step.

"Mind yourse—Sophie?" Mum gasped, voice rising above the crowd.

A woman came to a sudden stop just in front of them, blinking in surprise as she narrowly avoided colliding with Ron. Her curly red-blonde hair was falling loose from its bun, and she clutched several overstuffed shopping bags to her chest. "Molly!" she exclaimed, startled but smiling. "Merlin, I wasn't watching where I was going."

Ginny's brows rose slightly. The name clicked an instant before the recognition did—Sophie. This wasn't just any Sophie. This was Aunt Sophie, her aunt that was moving back to England…or already had, it seemed. 

Ginny had seen a photo or two, usually tucked inside an old album, and remembered the odd international Floo call or two around the holidays when she was a bit younger, but that hadn't happened in years —certainly not since Voldemort had returned. 

In fact, she couldn't remember an appearance from Aunt Sophie or her cousins since the Summer after her First year, as if the mere hint of Voldemort had driven her aunt even further out of their lives.

So it was strange to see her now, alive and real, laughing as she caught her breath in the middle of Diagon Alley.

Behind her, a child and two teenagers—twins, by the look and age of them—appeared equally weighed down by shopping. The girl, who must have been Vignette, was tall and willowy and had a wild mane of dark auburn curls partially tamed by a bright, patterned teal-and-gold scarf. Her hazel eyes flicked up with easy amusement as she took in the scene, her expression open and animated. Even in the crush of Diagon Alley, she stood out—her robes worn with the kind of flair that made Ginny immediately think of American wizarding fashion, bold and full of personality.

The boy beside her, Rycroft, shared the same complexion—dark auburn hair cropped almost militarily-short, the same sharp hazel eyes—but the resemblance stopped there. Where his sister seemed to thrive in the bustle, the boy watched the crowd with quiet intensity, his broad-shoulders tense.

Trailing just behind Vignette and Rycroft was a boy no more than nine who could only have been Jonah. His wild mop of dark hair was only slightly tamed by a backward baseball cap with a moving dragon stitched on the brim. Ginny watched as he craned his neck to take in the towering shopfronts, his eyes bright with curiosity and constantly darting—cataloguing, calculating, thinking. He had the look of someone who asked too many questions and actually remembered all the answers. 

"Oh," Sophie said, finally noticing everyone else . Her voice softened as her gaze landed on Ginny and Ron. "You must be Ron and Ginny." There was something almost reverent in the way she said it, like she wasn't quite sure she believed it. "You're… enormous ."

Ginny had never been called "enormous" before, and she wasn't entirely sure how she felt about that. Her feelings must have been apparent because her aunt's eyes went wide and she gasped, flushing with embarrassment.

"I'm so sorry," she groaned, her face flushing a deep, unmistakable red—proof, Ginny thought with some amusement, that the infamous Weasley blush was at least fifty percent Prewett after all. "It's just—Ron was just an infant when I left and Ginny was…well…barely an idea ."

She scanned them appreciatively. "The Floo really doesn't do justice to how you've grown."

Ginny didn't want to add that the last Floo call she could remember with her aunt was when she was eleven . 

Instead she straightened and offered her hand. "Hi," she said, a little awkwardly. "It's…it's nice to finally meet you."

"You too," Sophie replied, visibly holding back emotion. "I just—sorry. This is a bit surreal."

Mum stepped in smoothly, wrapping an arm around Ginny's shoulders. "Ginny, this is your Aunt Sophie. And these two—" she motioned behind Sophie, "—are Vignette and Rycroft. Sixth-Years; they'll be beginning Hogwarts in the Fall."

Ginny nodded, recalling the letter that had arrived at the beginning of the month.

"Hi!" Vignette said brightly, smiling wide. 

Ginny smiled, recalling the brief but lively conversations she'd had with Vignette over the holiday Floo calls. As a child, it had been exciting to finally speak with another girl who wasn't her mum or Luna.

Rycroft gave a small nod, still watching everything and everyone with sharp-eyed caution. Ginny nodded back, still processing the moment. These were her cousins—a family she'd barely met—suddenly right in front of her in the middle of Diagon Alley, as if no time or war had ever stood between them.

"I like your scarf," Ginny said, grasping for something to connect over.

Vignette's eyes flicked up, as if surprised by the compliment, or perhaps she had forgotten about the scarf entirely.

"Oh, thanks! Mom and Dad got this for me when they were traveling two summers ago," she said, twirling the end between her fingers. Ginny couldn't help but notice that Vignette spoke with a distinct American accent.

"Where are my manners?" her Mum gasped. She waved Hermione and Harry forward. "This is Hermione and Harry. They're…well…"

"You just casually go back-to-school shopping with a war hero?" Vignette said, her eyes wide. 

"Oh, Harry hates the attention," Ginny corrected with a proud grin sent Harry's way. "He makes a much better boyfriend than a war hero."

"He was my best mate first," Ron grumbled. "Everyone keeps forgetting that. He'd be lost without me; I taught him what a bloody chocolate frog was."

Aunt Sophie chuckled, turning back to Mum. "I'm glad you wrote back," she said. "I know things have always been…awkward."

Mum shook her head, smoothing Aunt Sophie's shirt motheringly. "None of that," she admonished. "What's family if not the freedom to be awkward around each other?"

Aunt Sophie grinned. "Well I'm exceptionally glad you suggested getting into Diagon Alley as early as possible," she said, glancing around. "I had forgotten just how busy this place could be. I don't think it was like this when we were in school."

"Well, I think everyone is eager to try and get things back to normal," Mum said softly, scanning the crowds. "It doesn't help that there are quite a few new books on the list."

Aunt Sophie nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I noticed. Did you know the new History of Magic and Muggle Studies texts were originally published as academic papers?" she asked, already digging into her bag. "I read the Wentworth piece when it first came out. They've clearly added some editorial framing, because it wasn't nearly this long." She pulled out the thick Muggle Studies textbook and waved it for emphasis.

"Blah, blah, boring paper," groaned Jonah, "I want to see Knockturn Alley."

"We are absolutely not going to Knockturn Alley," Aunt Sophie said, rolling her eyes. "Why would you even think that?"

Jonah shrugged. "Everyone said it was where all the coolest shit was."

"That's not remotely what we said," Aunt Sophie hissed. "And watch your language."

But to Ginny's astonishment, Mum simply waved off the scolding. Ginny blinked. Her mother had never let language slide—not once in all the years Ginny could remember. Not even Harry or Hermione got away with so much as a mild "bloody hell" in her presence.

For the first time in her life, Ginny truly understood the fury behind all the "youngest child gets away with everything" complaints her brothers used to throw around.

"I imagine you're all rather busy," Aunt Sophie said. "A lot to get done today."

"A lot to do. Letters arrived rather late this year, though not at all surprising given the circumstances," Mum nodded, casting a quick glance Ginny's way. 

"I can only imagine," Sophie said softly before turning back to her children. "I do worry about Vignette and Rycroft fitting in."

"Oh don't you worry about that, Ginny and Hermione will be there to make sure everything is handled," Mum assured her. "Hermione is a Gryffindor prefect and Ginny is—"

"Quidditch Captain—also Gryffindor," she said with a grin.

"Well obviously ," Vignette said. "Weasley and Prewett? How could you be in anything else?"

Ginny laughed; some families had long histories in a single house, and she happened to come from two. 

"Have you gotten sorted yet?" she asked.

Her cousin shook her head. Ginny had vague memories of a younger Vignette; briefly talking over holiday Floo calls, a few exchanged letters when they were both learning to write. But those memories were likely as far removed from the young woman standing in front of her as the young woman's memories of her were.

"Our letters said we'll get sorted with the First Years," Rycroft said, his voice clipped. "Guess they want us to get the full experience."

"It's an important experience to have," Hermione cut in. 

But Rycroft just shrugged. "I guess if it's the first time you're introduced to magic," he said, unimpressed. "I was impressed with the Sorting Ceremony at Ilvermorny my first year, but by the last time I saw it I was just ready to get on with it."

Hermione looked like she wanted to argue, but decided against it. She gave Ginny a pleading look, but Ginny couldn't really disagree. 

"Well when it's your turn, tell the Sorting Hat we say 'hi,'" Harry said with a grin. He shared a look with Ron and Hermione, and Ginny would have felt left out if he didn't immediately share it with her, too.

"Talking hat, sure, makes perfect sense," Rycroft drawled. 

"Despite her reluctance to admit it," Mum said with a pointed but proud voice. "Ginny is also Head Girl this year."

"Really? Fantastic!" Aunt Sophie exclaimed. "Just like your brothers!"

"No kidding?" Vignette said, eyes wide. "That's a big deal, right?"

Hermione wheeled around. "Do you really not know?" she asked. It was one thing to not be impressed by the Sorting Hat, but apparently not acknowledging the prestige of being Head Girl was just too much for Hermione to stomach.

"We don't have that at Ilvermorny," Vignette said, throwing her hands up defensively. "We have an elected student government and representatives from each of the Houses. Not quite as fancy."

"That sounds fascinating," Hermione said, fixing her eyes on Vignette. "How does it…" But she caught herself before she could ask further. "Apologies. I got ahead of myself."

"So a Head Girl and Quidditch Captain," Aunt Sophie said appreciatively. "Not doing anything in half measures, are we, Molly?"

"Who, Ginny? She certainly doesn't," Mum said proudly. 

Sophie smiled, but there was something quieter beneath it—an edge of something more serious. "Sounds like the new term's going to be anything but ordinary."

"It won't be," Hermione said, her tone sobering. "Especially with the trials starting next week. A lot of students are being called in to testify. Some of us were the only ones who saw what happened."

Vignette blinked. "Wait, testify? You mean in court?"

Harry nodded. "The Council of Magical Law is reviewing every Death Eater case. And not just the big names. Some of the Carrows' student informants, and others who haven't faced formal charges yet."

Sophie exhaled slowly. "And they're relying on student testimony for that?"

"We weren't just students," Ginny said quietly. "We were there. We were fighting."

There was a brief silence. The bustle of Diagon Alley carried on around them, oblivious, but in their little circle, the air had shifted.

Sophie's expression tightened. "I don't mean to doubt that. I only mean…it's a heavy thing to ask of people who are still trying to recover themselves."

"That's true, I'll be the first to admit," Mum said, her lips pressed into a thin line. "But it's heavier to let those responsible go free."

"No one's saying that is the only other option," Aunt Sophie said gently.

"I'd rather speak than stay silent," Ginny said, her voice firmer than she expected.

"Precisely," Hermione added, though her voice was softer this time. "Not everyone can. So we should, while we can."

"I'm just saying the system should protect you, not lean on you," Aunt Sophie tried.

"Traditionally, systems protect the people who design them," Hermione said. She had a faraway contemplative look in her eyes. "Over this past year it was designed to protect and further Voldemort's agenda."

Ginny didn't miss how her aunt flinched at the name, while her cousins didn't. "It's really not a good habit to fall into, saying a Dark Lord's name," her aunt whispered shakily.

"He's gone," Ron said, glancing briefly at Harry, who nodded back tightly. Ginny watched with fondness as Ron took Hermione's hand in his and squeezed gently.

"He was gone last time, too," Aunt Sophie said, a fearful edge in her voice. "How long until we start hearing more rumors that he's hiding somewhere in—in Kalamazoo?" She shook her head fiercely. "Who's to say he won't do it again?"

"He won't," Harry said, his voice quiet but certain, as if he'd listened enough to figure out what he needed to say to make it most meaningful.

"You can't know that for certain," Aunt Sophie said, and even her own children seemed shocked by the fear in her voice.

"I'm probably the one person who can," Harry said softly.

Ginny caught the flash of skepticism that crossed Rycroft's face before he hid it.

"No one else has ever come back . What's to say he can't do it again?" Aunt Sophie asked. "No one believed he could."

"Dumbledore did," Mum said, taking Sophie by the arm and steadying her. "Never hid his suspicions."

"And he died ," Aunt Sophie whispered.

"And he trusted Harry to see it through," Mum said, and though it was just as whispered, there was a sureness to it that her Aunt's voice lacked.

"Am I doing the right thing, Molly, bringing my children here?" Aunt Sophie asked, her voice shaky. "When it all ended—when I'd heard what had happened." She looked utterly helpless. "Ezra was given the assignment. And I just thought…I'd finally get to see you again. In person. Here, in our home . But I get here and there's so much that's happened. So much reminds me of—"

Mum grabbed Aunt Sophie tightly and pulled her close. "I know, Dear, I know."

"Molly, I'm so sorry. I can't—I can't imagine," her aunt sobbed into Mum's shoulder. "We lost Gideon and Fabian and I just—I ran away. I left you. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry, Molly."

"Mom?" Jonah whispered, his voice full of uncertainty. He looked stunned by his mother's breakdown.

Aunt Sophie ran her hands over her face and quickly wiped her eyes. "I'm sorry, kids." She took a deep, steadying breath. Then, in an almost-identical way to how her own mother had done it all her life, Aunt Sophie pulled her youngest child to her and smoothed his shirt and the fringes of his hair. 

Jonah was still small enough for her to do that without having to reach up high, but wasn't quite young enough to avoid the exasperated eye rolls.

"Do you remember what we discussed before moving?" she asked gently, glancing over Jonah's head towards the older two.

Rycroft sighed dramatically. "That it'd just be for two years and then Vignette and I would be free to move and live wherever we wanted?"

Ginny bit back a retort, only for Vignette to step in and smack her twin on the arm.

"Don't be rude, Rycroft," she hissed.

Aunt Sophie shook her head in frustration. "The people here," she glanced over at her, Harry, Ron, and Hermione, "and the students, too—have just been through a war. A real war. One that claimed the lives of friends… family . People will be more guarded. I need you to know that and respect it."

"Come on, I'm not that tactless," Rycroft muttered.

"Previous comments aside?" Vignette prodded, giving him an entirely unimpressed look. 

"I didn't—" he tried to object, but thought better and sighed in defeat. "I'm sorry. It's a big adjustment; moving here. We're not connected to any international Floo—which is insanely expensive anyway—and mail takes forever, and—"

"God, you're such a tool, Ry," Vignette hissed before turning back to Ginny and the others with a helpless look.

Ginny waved her off. "Brothers, right?" She threw a nod over in Ron's direction.

Vignette grinned. "Finally, someone in this family who gets it !"

Ron rolled his eyes. "I'll remind you that I've done nothing to deserve that," he muttered.

"Not today," Ginny teased. 

"So, any professors we should be on the lookout for?" Vignette asked, eagerly and overtly changing the subject. 

"Oh, absolutely," Ginny said excitedly. "But we're getting new professors this year, for Defense, History of Magic, and Transfiguration, so you won't be alone in feeling them out."

"Why don't we all grab some lunch together," Mum suggested, looking over at them appraisingly. "Give us a chance to sit down and talk a bit more."

Lunch turned out to be more pleasant than Ginny had expected.

They found a quiet table tucked away in the back of the courtyard behind the café, where the hum of Diagon Alley felt mercifully distant. Over sandwiches and charmed pitchers of cold pumpkin cider, Ginny found herself finally beginning to untangle the web of family she'd never really gotten to know.

Rycroft, while initially standoffish, surprised her. He was quiet, yes, and clearly keeping a close eye on Harry—but it didn't feel hostile, just…cautious. Protective, maybe. If anything, Harry seemed to appreciate the lack of gawking. Rycroft opened up more with Hermione and Ron, especially when Hermione started talking about their trip to Australia. Ginny noticed how intently he listened, especially when Hermione described the complex memory charms they'd had to work through. She had a feeling he'd be asking about magical theory later if given the chance.

Still, he didn't like Quidditch. He liked Baseball. Ginny had tried— really tried—to understand his explanation of the rules, but as far as she could tell, the sport was about standing around for ages waiting for something to happen, and then everyone panicked at once.

"Eighty percent of it is just waiting," she whispered to Harry at one point, incredulous. "And no one even flies ."

Jonah, on the other hand, had no such problem with enthusiasm. He bounced in his seat the entire meal, pelting them with questions about everything from the Battle of Hogwarts to whether dementors could be punched, and if there were really dragons in Gringotts. Aunt Sophie made several valiant attempts to steer him toward more "age-appropriate" conversation, but Jonah's curiosity was relentless. Ron handled most of it with a mix of exaggerated storytelling and real answers, occasionally interrupted by Hermione correcting the facts.

Vignette, thankfully, was a natural at diffusing things. She steered the conversation away from war stories when things got too heavy, and it didn't take long for her and Ginny to click. She had a bold, easy confidence that reminded Ginny a little of Luna—if Luna had cared about fashion and been incredibly good at reading a room. They traded stories about Hogwarts and Ilvermorny and made fun of their brothers with the effortless rhythm of cousins who had known each other far longer than a few hours.

But what caught Ginny off guard the most was how easily Mum and Aunt Sophie slipped back into each other's orbit. It started with a few knowing glances, then a half-teasing jab, and before long they were laughing like no time had passed at all. Watching them talk like war, loss, and distance hadn't carved a canyon between them was something Ginny hadn't realized she needed to see.

As the meal wound down, Ginny pushed her chair back and cleared her throat. "You lot are invited to my birthday next month," she said, a little shyly. "It'll be at the Burrow—nothing fancy, just…food, games, maybe a few fireworks if George gets carried away."

"We'd love that," Aunt Sophie said warmly. "Thank you."

"And if the bustle of London gets to be too much before then," Mum added, "you're always welcome to stop by early. The Burrow's a bit chaotic, but it's a good kind of chaos. And Harry and Ron will be living here in London once they start Auror training."

"Really?" Aunt Sophie fought back a gasp as she glanced from Mum to Ron and back again in surprise. She waited a beat, as if to gauge Mum's reaction, but there was none.

"Like Hermione said: the system was the problem," Harry said, staring at Aunt Sophie determinedly, with the same intense green eyes that Ginny wanted to cannonball into. "It needs to change," Harry said, in that voice that made people want to listen . He cast his unshaking gaze out into the bustle of Diagon Alley beyond their little corner table. "We need to change it."

The look he shared with Ron seemed to put an end to the discussion and put Aunt Sophie at ease. But more importantly, the determination they both showed put Ginny at ease. She was glad they had each other for this next part of their lives; she wouldn't trust either of them to anyone but the other. 

Eventually, they parted with hugs and promises to write, and Ginny felt lighter than she had all day.

Later, back at the Burrow, it was just the four of them again—Ginny, Harry, Ron, and Hermione—gathered around the worn kitchen table as the afternoon light slanted in through the windows. 

"So," Hermione began hesitantly. "There will be a few more of the extended Weasley family at Hogwarts this year."

Ginny nodded, torn between excitement and uncertainty. "It all seemed a lot simpler this morning," she muttered. "All I was thinking about was how to get the first crack at scheduling Quidditch practice. Now I have to figure out Head Girl…stuff?"

Ginny groaned and flopped back in her chair. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I don't mean to sound ungrateful, or like I'm not taking it seriously," she said, feeling utterly pathetic. "I know that it would have meant a lot more to you than it does to—"

Hermione shook her head fiercely. "No, that's not it at all," she said, staring at Ginny intensely. "I was disappointed, of course, but after everything we've all been through I should really have a better perspective." She tried for a smile, but it still looked a bit pained. "The more I think about it the more certain I am that Headmistress McGonagall made the right decision. You deserve it, Ginny; and I'm sorry I reacted the way I did."

"Are you kidding? I would have been beside myself if someone else had been made Quidditch Captain," she insisted, pulling the ghost of a real grin from Hermione. "I was pretending that I'd be alright with it if Demelza got it, but," she shook her head, "I would have been a surly shit for days."

Ron chose that moment to chime in. "You mean it gets worse ?" he teased. 

Hermione rolled her eyes dramatically, though the grin never left Ron's face, and Ginny felt a twinge of fondness for the way they were playing up their usual bickering instigations. 

"Is it wrong that I kind of wish I had been there to see the panic on your face when you got the notice?" Hermione asked with a playful wince.

Ginny laughed. "A little, but to be fair, I don't think any of us expected that I'd be picked as Head Girl," she admitted. "If it's not shaped like a Quaffle or done on broomstick…" She shook her head and locked eyes with Hermione. "I'm worried I'm really going to mess things up."

"I'm not," Hermione said, swiftly and surely. "You took care of everyone last year. If you can do that, being Head Girl should be easy." A grin flitted across her face. "And you have at least one prefect to back you up."

Ginny smiled at her and nodded emphatically. She was wrong: it had taken less than a day for her and Hermione to overcome their lingering awkwardness around the Head Girl appointment. It felt good, right , knowing that she had Hermione back at her side, especially knowing what was coming.

Her eyes drifted to the stack of papers by the sink, the Daily Prophet on top curled and crinkled. The front page still showed its attention-grabbing headline clearly: " Death Eater Trials to Begin—Alecto and Amycus Carrow Among Those Awaiting Sentence. "

Her smile faded.

Chapter Text

July 18, 1998

Harry sat beside Andromeda Tonks in the cavernous marbled chamber of Courtroom Eight, his leg bouncing restlessly. The air in the room was thick and still, with the kind of stuffiness that seemed to press down from all sides. Torches flickered high on the stone walls, casting a golden glow across the polished floor. It would almost have looked inviting, were it not for the rigid formality of the space and the grim, impassive expressions of the Council members seated in judgment.

Each one of them sat stone-faced, lips drawn in tight lines.

Harry felt a chill deep in his bones. He pulled his suit jacket tighter and rubbed his arms, trying to stave off the feeling. But the chill had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. 

Draco Malfoy sat beside his solicitor on the other side of the courtroom, pale and ramrod straight. Lucius Malfoy had not been granted leave from Azkaban to attend—though from what Harry had gathered, Draco's solicitor hadn't bothered arguing for it. Narcissa, however, sat quietly at her son's side, her hands folded in her lap, her expression unreadable.

Looking at her now, he couldn't believe he'd ever thought she and Andi looked alike. He'd only known Andi for two months, but they'd become close. Maybe it was circumstance—he was her cousin's godson, her grandson's godfather—or maybe it was more than that. Maybe they were just two people shaped by loss, trying to rebuild a family out of its fractured remains. Maybe, if things had been different, she'd have been in his life all along—just another aunt who baked too many biscuits and worried too loudly.

Because he knew Andi. She was warm, caring, and thoughtful to a fault, and stubborn in the best way. And she was strong . She had lost more than he'd ever had , but she'd found ways to become strong in other ways; she hadn't let it hollow or empty her. 

Narcissa, by contrast, had been hollowing out for years. Long before Voldemort's return. And now, Draco's fate seemed to be the last thing holding together the fragile shell of what remained.

The defense's voice droned on in measured tones, smooth and practiced, spinning a tale of bloodlines, coercion, and second chances at redemption. Harry barely heard a word of it. His jaw was set, breath shallow. His fingers clenched and unclenched in his lap, knuckles pale, his knee jittering with pent-up energy, jaw tight, breath shallow. Every shift of parchment or cough from the gallery made his nerves snap tighter. Every sound in the chamber felt too loud in the silence: the tap of a quill, the scrape of a chair leg, the soft rustle of heavy robes.

Andi didn't speak, didn't glance his way. But when her hand settled briefly over his knee, his leg stilled.

He hadn't asked anyone to come with him. He'd told Hermione, told the entire Weasley family, to stay with Ginny instead. She needed them more. He could stomach this alone. But Andi had shown up anyway, slipping into the bench beside him without a word, her presence a quiet contradiction to his insistence that he didn't need support.

He appreciated it more than he could say.

But he hated being there—hated the pomp, the performance, the ceremonial pace of it all. Every word spoken here felt like a waste of time. Ginny was across the Ministry reliving the worst year of her life in front of strangers, and he was stuck offering testimony on behalf of Malfoy, of all people.

Harry swallowed hard, trying to focus, but every word felt like static in his ears. A slow, dull anger churned in his gut, fed by guilt. It wasn't that Draco didn't deserve a fair trial, it was that Ginny deserved better than to go through this without him. She was across the hall, probably clenching her fists in that way she did when she was trying not to break, telling strangers about detentions that left bruises, about screaming classmates, about the resistance they'd had to build from scratch because no one else was coming to save them.

And he wasn't there. Again.

Instead, he was listening to a polished defense of a boy who'd broken Bellatrix Lestrange and Fenrir Greyback into Hogwarts and once tried to hand him over to Voldemort.

Harry didn't even hear the head judge call his name. Only a gentle press on his arm from Andi pulled him back from his brooding. He snapped to attention, vividly aware of the sharp and sudden silence that pressed down on him from every person in the room. There wasn't a single sound as he stood; not a whisper or a rustling of robes as he stepped from his seat to sit before the assembled panel of judges.

He crossed the floor briskly, smoothing the front of his suit jacket as he went. It was sharp and dark and deliberately Muggle. Draco and his solicitor wore traditional wizarding robes, but Harry had chosen differently. He wanted to remind the Council, and Draco, what he had fought for. Who he had fought as. He wanted them to remember that this war hadn't been fought in some abstract sense of morality, but for real lives, real blood, real futures. He wanted to make sure they did not just forget what had happened and exactly who it had happened to. 

Like last time.

Andi had insisted on buying him the suit. He'd argued—pointed out that he had plenty of money, thank you—but she'd taken him to a Muggle tailor anyway. He'd stood awkwardly while pins were tucked and fabric adjusted, and when it was done, she'd looked him up and down with a rare softness and said, simply, "Ted and Lily would approve."

That was when he understood: it had never been about the money.

"The Court recognizes Mr. Harry James Potter, called by the defense," the head judge said in the same monotone voice that Professor Binns had lectured in; a bored voice that betrayed the feeling of anticipation that threatened to burst from the chest of everyone in the room. There was a brief back-and-forth of swearing-in over the laws of magic before the judge handed it back over to Malfoy's solicitor.

"We appreciate you coming, Harry," the man said, all practiced, saccharine serenity; polished to perform for the judges.

Harry forced down a snarl rising in his throat and offered a polite nod. The man was as fake as leprechaun gold; playing at familiarity not out of any sense of gratitude or appreciation, but to make a display of it for the panel of judges. It was a tactic—he wanted to show that they were friendly ; try to use that to help Malfoy's case.

Across the room, Andi caught his eye and gave a subtle nod of encouragement.

"Let's stick with some formality—out of respect for the severity of what we're addressing today," Harry said, his voice cool, his smile tight.

He watched with grim satisfaction as Malfoy's solicitor masked a flash of irritation and forced an agreeable nod.

Harry sat straight-backed in the witness chair, shoulders squared, his leg finally still after its nervous bouncing earlier. Malfoy's solicitor was methodical, walking step by step through their shared history: their first meeting in Madam Malkin's , their first squaring-off, their frequent rows, the duel that never happened, the insults, the hexes in corridors, the ambush on the train in sixth year. He framed each event with casual neutrality, as though simply seeking a full picture, but Harry could feel the direction beneath the surface. Harry didn't like the way it sounded—like he was being led somewhere.

"So," the solicitor said finally, his tone still calm and reasonable, "would it be fair to say that you and the defendant—Mr. Malfoy—were not, in any meaningful sense, friends?"

Harry blinked, caught off guard by how blatantly he'd driven home that fact for all to hear. "No," he said plainly. "We weren't."

The solicitor offered a mild smile, almost like Harry had confirmed something helpful. "Precisely," he said. "And that's important, you see. Because when Mr. Malfoy failed to identify you at Malfoy Manor, when he hesitated to duel you at Hogwarts—it wasn't out of friendship. It wasn't to protect someone he cared for. It was something else. Growth. Maturity. A recognition of what he had become part of. And, indeed, an act of defiance against the Dark Lord himself—"

"Objection, Your Honors," the lawyer for the prosecution said, standing suddenly. "Calls for speculation."

"I didn't ask the witness to speculate," Malfoy's lawyer said pointedly.

"No," the prosecutor replied coolly. "You did it yourself ," 

Harry couldn't help but be impressed by the prosecution. Sterling Barrows had a face that looked carved from stone—angular, unreadable, and sharp around the edges. His grey eyes were piercing, always calculating, like he could see five steps ahead in any conversation. He didn't waste words, didn't fidget, didn't even blink more than necessary. Just stood there in his dark robes, still and steady, as if he already knew how the whole thing would play out. 

Harry figured if anyone could cut through the Ministry's nonsense, it was him.

The judges conferred quietly among one another, nodding in agreement, before the head judge straightened and inclined his head towards Malfoy's lawyer. "The objection is sustained. Let's stick with questions , Mr. Greengrass."

"Of course," Greengrass nodded with a tight smile, before turning back to Harry. "I'll rephrase that then. Do you acknowledge that those events did occur?"

"Your Honors, Objection. Vague and ambiguous," Barrows said, sounding entirely nonplussed.

Greengrass's carefully-constructed facade was beginning to show cracks with his annoyance. "I'll try again if it pleases the prosecution : Mr. Potter, did Draco Malfoy fail to identify you when you were brought to Malfoy Manor?"

"Yes," Harry said tightly, his voice clipped. His back straightened as he folded his hands in his lap. If Greengrass was going to try and corner him he would be deliberate with his wording.

"Do you feel any special kinship with Mr. Malfoy after all you have gone through both together and against one another?"

Harry blinked, eyes narrowing slightly. "No, I don't."

"And yet, you saved him from Fiendfyre the night the Dark Lord came to Hogwarts." Greengrass paused, letting the silence stretch. "Why is that?"

Harry shifted in his seat. "It was the right thing to do."

"' The right thing to do .' That's a very important thing." Greengrass paced slowly in front of the bench, hands clasped behind his back like a professor leading a lecture. "But how do you know what 'the right thing to do' is, Mr. Potter?"

Harry hesitated, brow furrowing slightly. "I...I just do."

"Would you say your concepts of right and wrong stem from the examples set for you by your guardians and mentors during your formative years?"

"I would," Harry said, cautiously now, tracking Greengrass's movements with his eyes.

"Knowing what you do of Lucius Malfoy, do you believe him to be a good person to set that example?"

Barrows stood sharply. "Objection: calls for speculation— and leading the witness."

Greengrass turned slightly, palms up in mock innocence. "Your Honors, I'm simply attempting to contextualize the answers that Mr. Potter has already provided."

One of the judges gave a tired sigh. "Overruled, but tread lightly, counselor."

Greengrass inclined his head. "Thank you. Mr. Potter, same question."

Harry's jaw clenched. "I do not."

"Have you ever been wrong about something? Acted wrongly?"

Harry's eyes flicked to the gallery for the briefest second. "I have."

"And when confronted with that failing, what do you do?"

He exhaled slowly, resisting the urge to cross his arms. "I…try and make it right."

"Objection!" Barrows snapped too late, standing again. "Vague and ambiguous."

"Your Honors," Greengrass said smoothly, not missing a beat, "I am merely doing the prosecution's job for them in establishing the upstanding character of Mr. Potter."

The same judge raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Overruled. Continue."

"Mr. Potter," Greengrass said, stepping forward again. His voice was softer now, almost coaxing. "If our sense of right and wrong is derived from the examples provided by those around us in our most formative years…would you say that the actions of Draco Malfoy, in your experience, track with those of his father Lucius and other alleged Death Eaters?"

Something in Harry snapped. "There's nothing alleged about Lucius Malfoy being a Death Eater," he said sharply, the words punching through the room like a thrown stone.

Greengrass gave a slight nod, as though he expected the outburst. "Answer the question please, Mr. Potter."

Harry leaned forward, voice low but forceful. "It's not a question that can be answered so simply."

Greengrass tilted his head. "I'll ask again. Do the actions of Draco Malfoy during your interactions with him track with those of a loyal Death Eater?"

Harry's lip curled. "It's not that simple."

"The question is very simple, Mr. Potter."

"I can't believe I'm stuck entertaining this right now," Harry growled, louder this time, his hands gripping the edge of the bench.

Greengrass's eyes lit with a spark of provocation. "Oh, do you have somewhere better to be?"

"Yes!" he all but snarled. "Someone I love is reliving the worst year of her life in front of an entire courtroom of people. And I'm sitting through this rote and procedure for Draco Malfoy of all people." 

He turned sharply to Greengrass. "You want half-truths and rehearsed narratives? Get them from someone else."

He turned to the judges, his glare sharp and unflinching. "The Malfoys were complicit in everything," Harry said, his voice low and steady. "Right up until the end—when they finally realized what it might cost them ."

He shook his head, barely keeping the tension out of his jaw. "No, Draco didn't kill Dumbledore, but he had no problem with everything leading up to that moment. He let Death Eaters into Hogwarts—he let Bellatrix Lestrange and Fenrir Greyback into a school full of children . He led that attack in the Room of Requirement without a second thought. He would have handed us over to Voldemort—"

"That is speculation, Mr. Potter," Greengrass said, his face flush. The courtroom felt tight, close, as if the walls had inched nearer.

But Harry powered through. He wasn't going to let anyone stop him. "The idea of killing Muggles, Muggleborns—anyone who stood up to Voldemort—that was never a problem for Draco. Not until he had to look it in the eye. Not until he had to do it himself."

Harry exhaled through his nose, trying to slow the fury pounding in his chest. "Yeah, he realized the cost of his choices. But it was years too late. People died in the meantime."

He glanced toward the bench, his gaze unwavering. "The Council can debate Draco and Narcissa's guilt all day—it won't change what they did. They chose Voldemort. They fell in line and stayed there until it started to hurt them."

His voice dropped, quiet but certain. "Did they act out of fear? Maybe. Probably. But so did everyone else. Everyone was afraid. Especially at the end."

A sharp voice cracked through the chamber.

"He was the Dark Lord—the most powerful Dark wizard of all time!" Narcissa Malfoy's voice rang out, rising frantically above the hum of murmurs and the scratch of quills and echoing off the marble walls like a banshee's wail. Her composure, so carefully maintained throughout the trial to that point, finally slipped. Her eyes burned with a wildness, hands trembling at her sides.

Harry surged to his feet, his chair screeching sharply against the stone floor. "And I was fourteen the first time I faced him," he shouted back, voice raw. His hands were fists, white-knuckled at his sides, his face flushed. " Fourteen . In a graveyard. Surrounded by your husband and your friends ."

The words poured out, jagged and unfiltered, irreverent to the pomp and proceedings. "When all is said and done, Draco and Narcissa stood with Bellatrix ; the sister who murdered her niece and her niece's husband. Orphaned a child," he said bitterly, his glare fixed on Narcissa. "They chose her. Not the sister who stood up to all of it; who dared to defy everything they believed in. Not the sister who would have fought for them; fought to get them out of that place. They had so many chances to ask for help. And they never once did."

Harry swept his gaze across the courtroom, the judges, the rows of wizards and witches holding their breath, captivated, listening to what he had to say. If they wanted to hear what he, Harry Potter, had to say about the matter, he'd tell them. In his own words, without anyone there to twist it for some other purpose. 

He was done being used to further someone else's agenda.

"Voldemort may have cast the killing curses, but Draco's hands are not clean. One act of decency doesn't erase a lifetime of choices."

His voice dropped, quieter, steadier, but no less fierce. His chest rose and fell in shallow bursts, his mouth drawn tight as he steadied himself. "Dumbledore once told us all, after Voldemort had returned: ' Remember Cedric Diggory. Remember, if the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy, remember what happened to a boy who was good, and kind, and brave. '"

He turned to the judges then, his eyes unwavering. "It's our choices that show us who we really are—not our abilities, or our blood, or anything else."

The silence thickened around them, and Harry could hear his blood pounding in his ears.

Harry drew a calming breath, forcing his pounding heart to slow, to regain control of himself. He thought about the way Dumbledore had been able to command a room without raising his voice above a whisper and tried to channel that force of will.

"Draco and Narcissa made their choices," Harry said, each word deliberate, but quiet in a way that would force the judges and observers to listen . "They have to live with them now. But you ," he nodded toward the panel of robed judges, " you have to decide what that means. How to punish them for the choices they made…and whether to give them the opportunity to make better ones."

He didn't wait for a response or a dismissal. The heavy hush in the courtroom trailed him as he turned on his heel and strode out, each step echoing against the polished floor. The doors creaked open and shut behind him with a heavy thud, the sounds distant and final.

Andi was waiting just outside, her face unreadable beneath a veil of grief and resolve. She didn't speak as Harry stepped beside her. She only nodded once.

Without another look back, Harry fell into step with her, his jaw still tight, his thoughts already elsewhere.

Ginny was waiting.

And this, whatever this had been, whatever would come from it, was done.

The trials had cast a long shadow over everything, looming quietly in the background no matter how hard Ginny tried to push them from her mind. Even her usual distractions—long hours of Quidditch practice, a few evening shifts at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, endless rounds of Defense revision with Hermione and her friends at Shell Cottage, and pints at the Leaky Cauldron with the other soon-to-be Aurors—hadn't been enough to lift the weight from her chest.

But for a little while, at least, there had been a reprieve.

The day after first meeting her cousins in Diagon Alley, she, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had gone to visit with Sophie, Vignette, Rycroft, and Jonah in London. It was the first time Ginny had properly spent with her American cousins—her mum's niece and nephew who had crossed an ocean to help put the world back in order. 

They'd wandered through Diagon Alley, giving Vignette and Rycroft a proper tour. Ginny had insisted that Jonah tag along too; she knew exactly what it was like to feel like the youngest being left behind while her siblings went off to school. Jonah was a bit shy and soft-spoken at first but quick to laugh at Ron's more ridiculous—if heavily editorialized—explanations of their antics and adventures over the years. 

By the end of their outing, they'd discovered that Jonah's mouth was just as filthy as any Weasley's—maybe even worse. In fact, she was beginning to reconsider the origin of hers and Ron's foul language altogether. It might not be a Weasley trait after all. It seemed far more likely to be a Prewett one, given how naturally Jonah swore—and how eager he was to learn every British variant.

At Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes , Vignette had practically been bowled over by the chaos—Decoy Detonators going off in the corner, a pygmy puff escape attempt being thwarted midair, and Ron getting caught in the middle of a self-inking quill malfunction that turned half his face purple. 

Even Hermione had laughed.

Ginny had watched Vignette soak it all in—her quick, clever gaze darting from display to display, asking questions, poking at prototypes, teasing Rycroft about how easily he could be taken in by George's slick sales tactics. George had quickly become Jonah's favorite; the kid had shadowed him through the shop, firing off questions until an emergency with a supplier pulled George away.  There had been something grounding in it all, something oddly comforting in seeing this part of their family click so seamlessly into place.

And for a little while, it had been enough to forget what waited on the other side of the day.

But now, in the suffocating weight of Courtroom Ten, that brief moment of light felt like a distant flicker—still there, but buried under stone, sweat, and the press of history bearing down on her shoulders.

The chair at the center of the courtroom felt far too large for Ginny. She sat upright, shoulders squared, hands folded neatly in her lap. The iron-cold chains, typically reserved for full Wizengamot criminal proceedings, had been magically retracted, but their absence didn't fool her. She could still feel them, coiled like serpents, waiting.

The heat in the room was unbearable. 

The courtroom, crowded with judges, observers, and court reporters, throbbed with the stifling warmth of too many bodies packed into the chamber carved deep beneath the Ministry's foundations. No windows or breeze offered relief. The torches, enchanted to burn cold, sputtered and hissed like they were protesting the weight of it all. Ginny could feel the sweat gathering at the back of her neck beneath her collar, could feel it prickling along her spine and behind her knees. The air was heavy, thick with breath and tension, and it felt like she had to fight just to inhale.

The stone walls rose high and indifferent around her, swallowing her with their sheer enormity. The flickering shadows cast by the torches danced across the stern faces of the Council of Magical Law. Seven judges sat behind the high bench, robed in identical black, but nothing about them felt unified. Ginny had never seen the council like this—not that she'd seen them often. She wasn't old enough to remember the war trials after Voldemort first fell. She had only read about them in History of Magic textbooks, alongside names she now associated with fear and loss.

Now, she could see firsthand the fractures in the room.

One judge, a stooped woman with a sharp chin and keen eyes, tapped her fingers incessantly on the arm of her chair, eyes darting to the defense table with open suspicion. Another, a man with silver streaks in his beard and a gold chain of office stretched taut across his chest, watched the proceedings dispassionately. He carried himself like the sort of man who had decided long ago which way he'd vote. A third leaned forward whenever the defense spoke, nodding slightly as though confirming biases he hadn't yet admitted aloud. And another, a hawkish figure, rarely looked at Ginny at all, instead whispering to the colleague beside him, their words veiled behind quick, impatient glances.

Cassius Marchbanks, done with his questions, returned to his seat, his face weary. Though they had spoken before as he prepared her to testify, doing so in front of a full panel of judges and the assorted looky-loos curious to hear what had gone on at Hogwarts under Voldemort's rule was every bit as grueling as he'd warned.

And the watchers above, the ones in finer robes, with sharper eyes and constant, murmuring whispers, were just as dangerous as the defense solicitor. Ginny could feel their gaze like nettles against her skin.

Across the room, the Carrows slouched at their table like they owned it, their robes pressed and smirks in place. Amycus tilted his head toward her, eyes glinting with something feral. Alecto picked at her nails, bored—or pretending to be. Their solicitor leaned forward with predatory focus, quill poised and lips already curled into a sneer as they whispered amongst themselves.

Ginny didn't give them the satisfaction of a second glance.

Instead, her eyes flicked to the rear of the courtroom, where her family sat like an anchor. Her dad had his arm around Mum's shoulders, and though Hermione's jaw was set tight, her gaze didn't waver. Bill and George sat on either side of Ron, who looked like he might break the bench apart just clenching it. Percy sat ramrod straight. Even Charlie was there, his expression stormy and unreadable.

They were far from her—but in direct sight. That was what mattered.

The gavel struck once. The defense rose.

And the questions began.

"Miss Weasley," the defense solicitor said smoothly, rising from his bench and straightening the front of his robes, "you weren't even at Hogwarts for the entire school year. You left before the final battle. How can you possibly testify to what truly happened?"

Ginny kept her spine straight in the chair, even as her palms began to sweat against the worn wood of the armrests. "I was there long enough—until April," she answered, her voice clear despite the tremor building in her chest. "I can testify about what happened until then."

From the bench, one of the judges, a younger wizard, probably not even Dad's age, scribbled something on his parchment with a sharp shake of his head. Another leaned closer to read over his shoulder, lips pressed into a frown.

The solicitor arched a brow, circling his lectern like a vulture sizing up prey. "You and your friends formed an illegal resistance group, correct? Isn't it possible that your personal bias is influencing your account of events?"

She didn't flinch. "No," she said evenly. "My personal experience is influencing my account of events."

A scoff from the other side of the room—maybe Alecto, probably Amycus. Ginny ignored it.

"In your statement, you described the Carrows as cruel," the solicitor pressed, "yet you repeatedly defied them. If they were as dangerous as you claim, why would you keep provoking them?"

Ginny's jaw tightened. Her fingers curled into the fabric of her robes. "It was the right thing to do."

His smile was thin, like a knife's edge. "' It was the right thing to do ,'" he repeated, mocking her tone, "to encourage your fellow students to put themselves in what you believed to be dangerous situations?"

"I never forced anyone to do anything," Ginny said, heat rising in her cheeks now, but not from embarrassment. "And I never suggested someone do anything I wasn't willing to do first."

High above, one of the elder judges—an austere witch with a white streak in her hair—made a noncommittal noise, but her fingers tightened around the wooden lip of her desk. The man beside her leaned to whisper something in her ear, his expression skeptical.

The solicitor for the Carrows moved in front of the judges, hands clasped behind his back. "So it's true, then, that you and your friends engaged in acts of rebellion that endangered other students?"

Ginny leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowed. "Then we agree that the Carrows posed a danger to the students."

That drew a murmur from the gallery. The solicitor tried to wave it away, pacing again. One of the judges shot the crowd a silencing glare, but the undercurrent of tension didn't dissipate—it only curled deeper into the corners of the room.

"You are the daughter—and younger sister—of several members of the Order of the Phoenix," he said. "Wouldn't you say you were raised to be prejudiced against anyone associated with the previous Administration?"

Ginny tilted her chin up. "No, not the previous administration," she said coolly. "Just people who would try to persecute someone based on their birth."

There was a slight pause, tension tightening like a noose in the air. Parchment crinkled  somewhere unseen. Another judge pressed his lips thin, eyes darting toward a colleague whose expression had turned stony.

"Your brother, Percy Weasley, worked for the Ministry during that time," the solicitor said. "Do you believe he was complicit in what happened? If not, why do you insist that the Carrows were?"

Before Ginny could answer, Marchbanks's voice rang out from the prosecution bench. "Objection, Your Honors," he said sharply. "Percy Weasley is not on trial. Further, Percy Weasley has given testimony and demonstrated multiple accounts of undermining the efforts of the previous administration's Muggleborn Registration."

The head judge, expression tight with distaste, nodded. "Sustained. Move on, counselor."

The Carrows' solicitor barely blinked. "Very well. Miss Weasley, your boyfriend, Harry Potter, was the face of the opposition to the Ministry. Were your actions at Hogwarts truly about protecting students, or were they an attempt to impress him?"

Ginny froze—but only for a heartbeat. Her eyes flicked instinctively to the doorway.

Harry had just stepped into the courtroom with Andi at his side. His gaze found hers and, without breaking eye contact, he made his way to sit beside her family.

A ripple of awareness passed through the chamber. A judge adjusted her seat. Another frowned openly.

She took a breath, slow and controlled, before answering, her gaze still locked with Harry's. "Anyone who knows us would already know the answer to that."

The solicitor stepped forward again. "Illuminate us, Miss Weasley."

Ginny's voice didn't waver. "Harry was not the face of opposition to the Ministry, only to Voldemort. And our relationship isn't about impressing each other." She met the solicitor's gaze with a steady, defiant stare. "Besides, we had broken up at the time."

There were scattered murmurs, then rustling as people whispered across the gallery. The solicitor's smirk widened.

"Several previous witnesses claimed that was a ruse."

"Objection!" Marchbanks barked. "The witness's relationship status is irrelevant to the matter at hand."

"This speaks to the motivations of the witness with regards to her conflict with my clients," the defense countered.

The head judge's gavel struck once. "Objection overruled. Miss Weasley, please answer the original question. However," she added, her eyes narrowing toward the defense, "this chamber will no longer entertain questions regarding the private relationship between two consenting teenagers. Consider this your warning, counselor."

A few heads among the judges nodded in agreement, but two others exchanged looks—one skeptical, one vaguely amused. The divide was clear now. And everyone knew it.

The solicitor bowed his head slightly, though he didn't look the least bit chastened. "Very well. Miss Weasley," he said, voice sharp with false civility, "were your actions at Hogwarts truly about protecting students, or were they part of a larger attempt—as the youngest of your family—to prove to your family and friends just how mature and grown up you are?"

Ginny's eyes flashed. She could feel every pair of eyes on her—her parents, her brothers, Hermione, Harry. But it was her own words that mattered now.

"I was raised by people—among people—who chose to do the right thing when it was hard," she said, each word deliberate, low, and unwavering. " Especially when it was hard."

Ginny caught Harry's eyes across the courtroom. He didn't move—barely breathed—but the look on his face anchored her. He was standing just behind her family, his hand resting lightly on the back of the bench, as if he needed the grounding, too.

She could see her mum reach to touch his wrist, just for a moment. The gesture was so small it might've been missed by anyone not looking for it. But Ginny saw. And it gave her strength.

She straightened in her seat and turned back toward the defense solicitor. This time, her gaze didn't drift. She stared him down. Then she looked beyond him, past the polished veneer of the defense table, straight at the Carrows.

"You tried to break us," she said, her voice low but ringing with clarity. "And you failed."

The words dropped into the courtroom like a stone into still water—sharp, final, impossible to ignore. For a moment, there was silence.

Then Amycus surged to his feet, his chair screeching behind him. "You little bitch—!"

Alecto shrieked something unintelligible, her voice high and raw, spittle flying from her mouth as she pounded a fist against the table.

The entire courtroom erupted into motion. Robes rustled, voices barked, and wands flashed into hands—Ministry officials on either side of the chamber moved like wolves on a scent, surrounding the defense table before either Carrow could lunge.

"Silence!" boomed the voice of Nathaniel Greystone from the high bench.

The Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement rose to his feet, his robes settling around him like a stormcloud. Tall, hawk-eyed, and severe, Greystone radiated a cold authority that needed no wand. The room obeyed him instinctively.

Amycus snarled, his lips pulled back to bare his teeth. Alecto panted beside him, fists trembling, her heavy necklace clinking like shackles.

"Enough," Greystone said, voice low now, but lethal. His eyes raked across the room, daring anyone to move again. His gaze settled upon her and she found kindness in his eyes. "Miss Weasley, your testimony has been noted in full and will be reviewed in the final deliberations. On behalf of the Council of Magical Law, we thank you for your courage. You are free to leave."

Ginny stood. Her legs were stiff and her heart pounded, but her gaze never wavered as she turned to leave. She didn't look at the judges. She didn't spare the Carrows another glance.

She walked past the defense solicitor with the cool, silent dignity of someone who had already won.

And when she passed the gallery—when she saw Harry step back to make space for her to slip beside him, when her mother's arms reached instinctively—only then did she allow herself to breathe again.

But the heat remained, curling like defiance in her chest.

The heavy doors of Courtroom Ten groaned shut behind them, sealing in the chaos Ginny had left in her wake. Harry walked beside her, his hand in hers; not guiding, just present. Mr. Weasley led the way, eyes fixed ahead. The rest of the Weasleys followed in a tight, silent cluster. Hermione walked beside Ron, arms crossed, jaw clenched.

They were halfway across the atrium-level landing when Mr. Weasley stopped abruptly. At the far end of the corridor stood Narcissa and Draco Malfoy, flanked by Gawain Robards and two grim-faced Aurors.

Narcissa looked as composed and imperious as ever, her grey cloak pristine, her expression unreadable. But when she reached into her cloak, her hands betrayed her—too tight, too deliberate. She withdrew her wand and handed it to Robards without a word.

Draco hesitated.

His wand was already in his hand, clutched so tightly it looked like it might splinter. He didn't so much as glance at the Aurors. He looked straight at Harry.

And then—without ceremony—he thrust the wand to Robards hands.

That could have been the end of it. The corridor hung in breathless silence. But Draco didn't step back, didn't leave or look away. Instead, he took a step forward.

"Saint Potter," he said, his voice low and mocking. "Savior of the world." His gaze burned—not with fear, but with smearing fury. "Enjoyed that, did you? Feel like a great big hero now that my family's ruined? That we can't even walk down the street without people jeering at us? And now they've taken my wand."

"Sounds like quite the merciful sentence," Harry said.

"Merciful?!" Draco snarled, leaning forward. Narcissa grabbed his arm before he could move closer, but he shrugged her off.

Beside Harry, Ginny tensed. Ron made a noise low in his throat, and Hermione's hand shot to his arm in warning. Andi didn't blink, her hand drifting to her wand, though she didn't draw it. The Aurors flanking the Malfoys watched but didn't interfere.

Harry held Draco's stare. "What other punishment did they give you?" he asked, careful to keep his voice even. 

"The Ministry seized most of our family's assets," Draco fumed. Draco's mouth curled, bitter and tight. The fury in him was raw and barely leashed, simmering just under the surface. 

"No Azkaban sentence on account of your blood? No Dementor's kiss?" Harry said flatly, watching with a grim satisfaction as Draco flinched and moved back half a step. "Did they torture you with the Cruciatus ? Kill you and feed you to a giant snake? Tell me they at least threaten to murder you and everyone you've ever cared about?"

Draco went pale and swallowed hard.

"No?" Harry continued. "Must be difficult—waking up to sunlight every day. Eating what you want. Breathing free air…or breathing at all." He took a step closer. "Would we have been offered that kind of mercy if your side had won?" Harry asked quietly, glancing to Narcissa and then back to Draco again. 

Draco didn't answer. He wouldn't even meet Harry's eyes.

"I didn't think so," Harry said. His voice stayed calm. "And when I look at it that way it's hard to feel sympathy for someone who was stripped of his wand…and only most of his family's assets." Harry shook his head. "You have the chance to be… different now. Whatever that looks like for you."

Draco's jaw clenched. He stared at Harry for a long, tense moment, fury still simmering in his eyes. But Narcissa stepped in again, her hand resting firmly on his arm.

"Come, Draco," she said quietly, but her gaze lingered intently on Andi. "Dromeda, I—"

"It's 'Mrs. Tonks ' to you," Andi said, stiff and cold. Her eyes were wide and cutting—never had she looked more like Bellatrix than in that moment.

Harry stood straighter and stepped to Andi's side. "Goodbye, Draco," he said; softly, finally .

Draco turned his back and walked stiffly away, disappearing through the heavy doors of a secondary courtroom without another word. Narcissa trailed behind him quietly, her face an implacable mask.

Harry remained still for a moment, staring at the closed courtroom doors. His heart was still pounding, his limbs buzzing faintly with leftover adrenaline. Then a voice cut through the haze behind him.

"Mr. Potter."

Harry turned to find Sterling Barrows, the lead prosecutor on Draco's case, standing at the base of the gallery steps. He had clearly witnessed the entire exchange. His face was unreadable, carved from the same stone as his reputation; sharp eyes, measured tone, not a strand of silver hair out of place.

Barrows stepped forward and offered him a polite nod. "I wanted to thank you for your cooperation today."

Harry didn't answer immediately. He nodded once, short and stiff, his voice rough when it finally came. "Yeah. Of course."

"Who even agreed to represent them?" Mr. Weasley asked, watching the door the Malfoys had retreated through.

"Absalom Greengrass," Barrows said, his voice slow and careful. "Old family. Old money. The Greengrasses and Malfoys have been linked for generations—marriage contracts, business alliances, all the usual pureblood entanglements."

Harry gave a dry, humorless snort. "So this is about family duty, then?"

Barrows finally turned to meet his eye. "More like old debts. Absalom is…not the worst , as far as pureblood allies of the Malfoys go. Cunning, yes. Ruthless, when he needs to be—he's a lawyer, after all. But he's not blind. Representing them now likely pays off any remaining obligations. After this, I doubt he'll lift another finger for them."

Harry raised a brow. "That's comforting."

Barrows's lips twitched into something like a smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I didn't say he was doing it out of kindness." Barrows studied him for a beat longer before adding wryly, "I'll admit, I was a bit surprised it took Greengrass that long to get you to snap."

Harry's expression tightened. "You were counting on that?"

Barrows waved him off. "Of course. Once I realized what Greengrass had called you for, it was the best way for me to turn that against him," he explained, an easy grin on his face. "Let him walk you into saying exactly what he needed…and then turn it on him."

Harry's eyes narrowed slightly. "So you let him rile me up on purpose?"

Barrows gave an unapologetic grin. "I was warned you're a bit of a…hothead when it comes to bullshit. So yes, I suppose I let Greengrass do what he does best."

Harry's jaw clenched. "What? Why?"

"Because I knew he wouldn't be able to help himself," Barrows said. "He was never going to convince the Council you and Draco were friends. And we both knew you were never going to outright advocate for Draco. But he could use your own words—your definitions of what's right and decent—to paint Draco in a sympathetic light: to have you make the argument for him."

Harry nodded grimly, feeling more than a little vindicated for his earlier suspicions.

"So I just… stuttered him a bit when he began getting close to doing that," Barrows said, recalling his multiple objections. "I knew that once I got under his skin, he'd start pushing you. And, fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it—the thing about hotheads is that you tend to snap rather explosively."